


Nothing is Unthinkable

by everythingmurky



Series: War Never Trades in Such Certainties [2]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Case Fic, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-08 16:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingmurky/pseuds/everythingmurky
Summary: Ellie finds a body on the beach, drawing both her and Hardy into a murder investigation no one wants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was done with this. I also was giving a lot of thought to hiding and not publishing anything under this pen name again. I lost the battle with the need to write and this story, as the ideas were nagging at me.
> 
> So I went down this route again. It's kind of an interesting thing to attempt, balancing characters with a different setting in history than they're usually a part of, trying to find where they'd fit in that world and still keep them true to themselves.

* * *

Matt Pryer was not the only man in Broadchurch to come home from the war changed.

He was one of many, though the others were inside at this hour, sheltered from the storm and the chill of the night. Two weeks had passed since they'd found Wilmer Stoke on the beach below this cliff, and he'd thought that it had died with him.

It should have died with him.

None of that should have come back home with them. The war was over. It was all done.

“I thought you'd be here.”

Matt turned around, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're supposed to be dead.”

* * *

Ellie Miller walked along the beach, her skirt doing its best to trip her in the wind. She missed the days when she could run about after her father, scandalizing the town as she wore trousers like the boys and helped on his fishing boat. They'd despaired after her, most of the older ladies in town sure that she wouldn't ever marry, and Lucy had spitefully said there must have been something wrong with Joe for her to pick Ellie at all. Joe had always told her it didn't matter how she looked, he'd love her anyway, but she'd still tried, to be the wife and mother she was supposed to be.

She missed the trousers, though.

She should have worn some of Joe's. She was out early enough few people would see her and be shocked, and she'd like to be comfortable during her few minutes alone. She had to get back before Fred and Tom woke, should already be starting breakfast.

She didn't want to leave the beach. She had missed the water, feeling landlocked ever since she became a mother, not that she didn't love her boys. She adored them both, wouldn't trade them for anything, but she used to have more freedom, and she couldn't deny that.

She was halfway across the beach when she saw it. She wanted to believe it was just driftwood, a log tangled up in that mess of weeds and netting, but she didn't think there were any trees that tall for miles along the coast.

Swallowing, Ellie forced herself onward, going toward the body.

She could see it was a man from here, since he had the trousers she'd been lamenting a few minutes ago—and she was the only woman around here that would have dared use them, even if Beth would have liked to since she used to run about almost as much as Ellie did as a child. His white shirt was still soaked through, pressed thin against his skin.

She didn't know if she knew him or not, though she knew almost everyone in town. Broadchurch wasn't very big, and they tended to see each other every day, even if they only knew who the others were to nod hello.

She knelt down next to the body, pulling him back to face her. “Bloody hell.”

She knew him, of course, as she'd feared she would, but she didn't understand. Matt Pryer had been one of the lucky ones that went off to war and still came back. Even though she knew that they hadn't lost as many as other towns, it still felt like more went than came back, though not all of them had died. They'd just moved on after the war, finding work or love in other places.

Still, Matt's death came on the heels of Wilmer Stoke's, and she swore that he'd washed up himself not far from where she was now.

She didn't understand. One body wasn't that unusual, not when most of the town made their living or just survived by fishing, but two of them in only a few weeks?

That... and she was almost certain that Matt had been stabbed. His shirt was torn in front, and there was a deep gash right in his side. She knew he was dead, and she couldn't do anything for him. She had to tell someone else he was here, get him off the beach.

She rose, looking back toward the town. She would have to find Constable Randall and tell him, and then she supposed she'd better speak to Henry Teel, too, as he was head of the police. She frowned, seeing a figure ahead of her on the shore.

She waved, trying to catch the man's attention. “Over here!”

The man turned, and then he started walking in the opposite direction. She stared for a minute, not sure what to think. She shook it off, running toward him, cursing him and her skirts under her breath the entire time.

“Sir,” she called as she got closer. “Sir, please, I need your help. There's a man up the beach—well, a body—and I think he's—”

“Dead? Aye, I don't doubt that he is.”

Her stomach sank. She gagged, looking up at the Scottish soldier, not sure why he was still here. She hadn't recognized him without the uniform. He wasn't in it today. “Oh. You.”

He gave her a look, starting to turn away again. 

“No, but I think he was killed,” Ellie blurted out, and then she put a hand to her mouth, not sure why she'd been so bloody stupid as to say anything to _him,_ of all people. He'd been so callous at her home, and she rather had hoped he'd be gone, never to darken her doorstep again. She couldn't believe him, showing up here like he had. He'd been a right bastard, and then he'd blamed her for assuming.

“Killed?”

“I have to get back to the boys. I just wanted a short walk before they woke, and now they'll wake without me and a man is dead and someone killed him, and I should have worn trousers to hell with what people thought and—”

“Stop wittering,” Hardy ordered, and she did, mostly because she'd been shocked into silence for a moment. “Have you informed the constable? Do you know who this man is? What makes you think he was killed? Who else knows about the body? Did you see anyone else while you were walking?”

“That's a lot of questions. You'd think you were...”

He gave her a long look, and she gulped.

“Sorry. It's just... do you always ask questions like that? Not only can I not answer when you list them off like that, but you're not in charge or anything. You don't even live here.”

“Oh, go away,” he muttered. She continued to stare at him. “Go on. Back to your children. I'll stand by the body until someone comes.”

“Should you do that? With your lungs and the gas and—”

“Go.”

* * *

Hardy stood a short distance from the body, watching the waves move against the shore. He refused to look down at the remains of that man. This death was far from the worst he'd seen, almost peaceful compared to the men he'd seen in the war. Artillery fire had blown some men apart, and the ones who'd been burned by mustard gas—he carried the scars inside. Others had been less fortunate.

And he was not lucky.

Whoever that man was, his death had been swift, accomplished by a single wound. Hardy had seen enough deaths by bayonet to suspect the same method had been employed here, but why anyone who'd made it out of that hell would want to start it up here was beyond him.

He didn't want any more blood on his hands. He had never wanted to kill, and he'd thought that being pulled into the MFP would spare him from most of the combat, but he'd been wrong. He had done his part, and he'd wanted to be done with it.

Bloody hell. He shouldn't even be here. He'd only meant to stay long enough to confirm his suspicions about Joe Miller, and he had. He had intended to leave as soon as that was done, but Daisy had actually liked the beach and wanted to stay. If he hadn't listened to her—but then how was he to ignore what she wanted when she was only now starting to speak to him again?

He grumbled to himself, shaking his head.

“Sir?”

He turned, looking back to see a man, older than himself, straining his constable's uniform, which had been misbuttoned in apparent haste.

“Constable,” Hardy acknowledged. He gestured to the body. “It's yours to watch over now.”

“The boys'll be along in a minute to move him.”

“Excuse me?”

“We have to get him off the beach. Can't leave him here,” the constable said as if Hardy was being daft. “Tide'll come in soon.”

“I don't care if the tide is coming in. You need to know as much as you can about him and what happened before you move him. Get a damned camera, take photographs, measure the distance from the cliff's edge. Could he have fallen off and caused that injury by falling off a rock, or was he struck before he fell? Did he even fall, or did he wash up from a boat? The lack of other damage suggests it was from a boat, or he could have fallen right here. You need to look around the area for any sign that the altercation happened here. Don't you have any sort of training? How many murders have you worked?”

Randall's almost friendly manner faded. “We don't get murders here. That's city business. Worst we get is a pub fight or two, and that's not what this is.”

“Obviously.”

“You're free to go,” the constable said, looking like he'd like to escort him away by force.

“This man was murdered,” Hardy said, since he doubted that a rock had caused that wound. He folded his arms over his chest, refusing to move until this was in the proper hands. “Is it just you and the chief constable here?”

“Yes, now come away from there and let the lads—”

“And who is this chief constable?”

Randall glared at him. “Sir, I will remove you—”

“What's the hold up, Randall?” another man asked, coming up to them with four others behind him. “We need to move this poor unfortunate indoors before the tide comes in. You there, stand aside.”

“I take it you're the chief constable?”

“Yes. Henry Teel. And I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Oh, I'll leave when I see a proper investigation is being run,” Hardy told him, aware of the way his lungs disagreed with that sentiment. “This man was murdered. You can't move him before you've even seen him. You should be examining the area and photographing it—”

“And who are you to tell me my job?”

“Detective Inspector Alec Hardy,” he said, aware that his former position was no longer available to him. “Your constable says this is your first murder. That true?”

“No. And this isn't a murder. It's an unfortunate thing, these soldiers that can't adjust, but it's not murder. I suggest you let it go.”

Hardy frowned. “How can you go assuming it's suicide when—”

“I know it is a suicide. The inquest will say the same thing. Thank you for your assistance. Constable Randall will see you off the beach.”

Hardy shook his head. “Don't bother.”

* * *

“Oh, look at me,” Lucy said, wincing as she stopped at the mirror in the hall. “I'm a mess. Soaked right through and looking a fright.”

“I'm surprised you braved the rain,” Ellie said, knowing better than to offer to lend her sister anything dry to wear. Not only was she unfortunately larger, Lucy never gave back anything she borrowed, and Ellie couldn't afford to lose what little she had. She didn't know how they were going to manage now, with Joe gone. A few of the well-meaning townsfolk had suggested she remarry, but none of them had any real suggestions to give about who, other than Lucy's idea of Ned Bose who'd take anyone because he was two times their age.

“I had to come, didn't I?” Lucy asked, going toward the stove and putting on the kettle. Ellie wondered if she'd bother with the tea if she found out there wasn't anything stronger in the house to 'improve' it. “They said in the store that Matt Pryer's dead.”

“I know.”

“Killed himself, he did,” Lucy went on as if Ellie hadn't said anything. “Just like Wilmer Stoke.”

Ellie frowned. “Killed himself? How do they figure that? He was stabbed.”

“No,” Lucy said, always ready to correct her and run right over any opinion Ellie might have had. “They said he jumped off the cliff, just like Wilmer did. In the same spot, even. All those boys, they didn't come back right, you know? I'm just lucky Olly wasn't old enough yet, though... another year or two and he would have been.”

“He didn't jump,” Ellie said, knowing what it looked like when people did. Widow Bose, Ned's mother had done that when her husband died. Ellie had been a little girl then, but she remembered seeing her afterward, as they all had, and that woman looked like she'd been beaten by ten men. Pryer had barely had a mark on him besides the stabbing.

“Of course he did. They're all wrong, you know. Those ones that come back... shell shocked.”

Ellie grimaced. She didn't like that word, and she didn't think it was right, calling them cowards when they were damaged by war. Shouldn't war damage everyone? That made sense to her.

She thought about the questions Hardy had asked when she told him about the body. Had he dismissed her concerns, then? He'd treated her like some sort of hysterical female and ignored it all. Furious, she turned to Lucy.

“Will you stay with the boys for a bit?”

“I'm not going out in the rain again,” Lucy said, “but why would you want to go out?”

“There's something I need to do,” Ellie said. She grabbed a coat and a hat and hurried out, not wanting to stay with her sister a moment longer than she had to. She heard Lucy calling after her as she left the yard, but she wasn't about to turn back.

She had to do this before she lost her nerve, and she needed her anger, too, to get through it. She ran along the street, down to the only inn in town. Becca Fisher had inherited it when her husband died in the war, and while Ellie didn't figure she'd ever be close friends with the woman, she figured she could get a cup of tea without too much fuss, even if she was wrong about Hardy being there.

She stepped inside out of the rain, shaking a little as the chill set in. Becca wasn't at the desk, so Ellie wandered back to the dining room. She recognized the bored girl picking at the tablecloth and her silent companion, who stared out at the rain like he was far, far away.

“How dare you?” Ellie asked, and he almost jumped up from the table, startled. The girl rose, going to his side as he started coughing so badly she thought he might choke to death on them both right there.

“How dare _you?”_ the girl snapped, reaching for the tea and holding the cup up to her father's lips. “Here, take a bit. That's it. Better? Know where you are this time?”

He winced, turning away from the cup. His eyes went to Ellie, cold and dangerous, like he wanted to hurt her for embarrassing him. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to know why you told them it was suicide. I didn't expect you to almost die on me.”

He grunted. “Not dead. And I didn't.”

“You didn't?” Ellie asked, taking the seat across from him with a frown. The girl was frowning, too, but she said nothing, watching them both carefully. “I thought you were—was I wrong? Did I see something that wasn't there? Because he didn't look like he jumped. He looked like he jumped—oh, god. I just said all of that in front of your daughter.”

“I'm not a baby,” she said. “I'm going to be a nurse.”

“We've had this discussion,” he said. “I'm fine.”

“You are not,” she said, folding her arms over her chest in a pout.

He shook his head. “Thanks for that, Miller. You and your assumptions. Why don't you have a go at your chief constable? That idiot decided it was suicide before he even set foot on the beach.”

“You don't agree?”

“Of course I don't,” he said as he rose. “Time to finish packing, Daisy.”

The girl nodded, going around to help him, but he waved her off. She glared at him and went stomping up the stairs. He shook his head, and Ellie reached out to catch his arm before he could leave. He stared at her hand, and she almost let go on the spot, but she couldn't.

“Matt Pryer wasn't the same after the war, that's true. No one really was, but he didn't kill himself. We both saw his body. And Wilmer Stoke... they found him there, too, said he jumped, but two of them? Two men from the same platoon dying in the same place? I suppose they saw and did horrible things over there, but I can't see them killing themselves in the exact same spot. Not that the one did. I'm sure he didn't.”

“What do you want from me?”

“You said you were an investigator, right? That's what you did in the war and before it, right?”

“No.”

“Yes, you did. You said it. You were MFP, and before that a detective inspector,” she said, and he pulled his arm free.

“Aye, I was, but the answer is still no.”

“Someone is killing soldiers and blaming it on shell shock and you're just going to leave?”

“Aye, I am.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy tries to convince his daughter to leave, and she leads him back to the beach where the body was found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It struck me, midway through this, that Hardy was being stubborn in a way I'm not used to seeing. Most of the time he's fighting to stay on a case. This time, not so much. And that made me a little concerned that I was already writing people out of character. Isn't it fun how the brain jumps like that? This is why I am such a nutcase. I do this to myself all the time. And I can never tell if I'm justified in it or not.
> 
> Either way, I do think this Hardy would resist the case a bit at first. He's even more lost than usual in some ways. And Ellie is still more well adjusted, but then again... she doesn't know about Joe yet.

* * *

“Where are we going to go?” Daisy asked, and Hardy couldn't answer her. He didn't know. He'd returned home to find his former job gone along with his wife and home, and Tess' sister had almost refused to give Daisy to him when he finally tracked her down. “I thought you said you were never going back to Scotland.”

“I'm not.” He'd left that behind for good reason, and even now he wouldn't go back. He couldn't, even if he had nothing else. Oh, he had a bit left of his money from the army, seeing as that hadn't gone to Tess when she died or his sister-in-law would have spent it all just to spite him.

“So why do we have to leave the beach?”

He turned to her with a frown. “You _want_ to stay here?”

She fidgeted. “I know it's not the best for your lungs, but I like the water. It's peaceful here.”

He tried not to grimace. He hated this town, hated the air, the sand, and the stupid people. He wanted to smack the arse passing himself off as a chief constable. It was a small town, but that didn't mean they shouldn't at least try.

“I'd at least like to see the beach again before we go,” Daisy said, and Hardy didn't like it. The rain had gone on for most of the morning, and he didn't see it letting up any time soon. That meant at least another night.

“Daisy—”

“We should find someplace drier. I think that's supposed to be better for your lungs.”

He frowned. “I don't have the same thing as your mother. Stop fussing.”

“I know you don't. I watched Mum with the flu. I had it myself,” she reminded him, and he turned away, refusing to think about that. He could have lost his daughter as well as his wife. Daisy was younger, smaller. She could have succumbed to that disease just as easily—maybe more easily. “Are we just moving around so Aunt Liza can't find us?”

“What? Why would you ask that?” Hardy shook his head. “All this time I've been back, that's what you thought it was?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “You never tell me anything. I wouldn't even know you got gassed if you hadn't had a fight with Liza before we left.”

His eyes went to the window. He would rather face this town he hated than see the truth, but he swallowed and forced himself to turn back to her. “Did you want to stay with them? Do you... do you want to go back?”

“No. I want to be with you,” she said, and he couldn't see any bit of the lie in her face. He didn't understand. He hadn't been there for her in years, had missed what seemed like half her growing up even if it was only four years of war. He had leave, but what was two weeks when he should have been all year?

“You don't have to be here because of me.”

“I don't want to be with Liza or her husband. I want to be with you. And I want to be a nurse. And it is not just because you're sick.”

“I am not sick.”

* * *

“Don't wander too far.”

Daisy gave him a look, and Hardy waved her off, already feeling the salt water in his chest and regretting agreeing to bring her here. He wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He sat down on the sand, watching her for a bit as he rested. He'd never be what he was before the war, and he knew that would be true even if his lungs hadn't been burned.

Murray had said Hardy had gotten the easy part of the war when he was pulled into the MFP, and they'd both had a good laugh about it at the time before they learned how wrong it was. Hardy'd spent most of his time at the front, same as any soldier on rotation, and Murray... he'd been lost at the Somme.

Bloody bastard. That still didn't seem real, even now, almost three years later.

Hardy closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sounds of the gulls. He hated the birds, too. This town had nothing to redeem it except for Daisy's smile, the same one he remembered from when she was little, the one that had seen him through the war and given him a reason to fight to get back home. Otherwise, he supposed he'd have let the gas take him.

That or a bullet.

He opened his eyes, forcing the war from his mind as he looked back at the beach. He'd turned the opposite end, seeing the cliffs from yesterday instead of the clear shore where his daughter had gone. He frowned at the distance, seeing some bloke messing about where the body had been yesterday.

Hardy forced himself up, going toward the rocks. He didn't believe that suicide nonsense for a second, even if he'd never met Pryer. He wasn't a part of any of the troops Hardy had helped corral or any of the investigations he'd done while part of MFP, not even the one that concerned Joe Miller and had led him to this forsaken town. He knew too many soldiers who'd come out of the wrong side of the war that were still alive. Just being a part of it didn't mean they all wanted to end it—that was the thing about war. One of the worst parts was fearing that every day was the last—unless, of course, they'd hit the point where that seemed like a blessing—but most soldiers were desperate to go home.

Some of them had trouble adjusting, but if he could manage it after losing his wife, his home, and his health, he figured most of the others were doing better than he was. He had Daisy, and he kept on for her, and he wasn't the only one who would.

Pryer might not have had a family, but that didn't make him suicidal, not any more than the war did.

“Oi, you,” Hardy called out to the man on the rocks. “What do you think you're doing?”

Something flashed, and he saw fields, lightened in the dark by artillery fire, explosions and screams. He shuddered, the chill of the sea water joining with the past to settle in deep. He gagged, unable to breathe as his lungs picked up the memory, carrying it further than it ever should go.

“Sir?”

He jerked himself back, stumbling a step and looking at her. Anger came quickly, covering over the shame of the moment and his weakness.

“Miller? What the hell are you doing here?”

She held up a camera. “I thought I'd see about getting some photographs of this spot, something I could look, maybe find the rock he must have fell against—if there is one.”

“You think you're going to find it like this?”

She glared at him. “You have something to say about my clothes?”

He had mistaken her for a man in the distance, though he wasn't wearing his glasses. “Should I?”

“What, every woman you know goes about in trousers?”

“If they did, they'd probably find ones that fit,” he told her, and she glanced at the rolled up bottoms of her pants with a frown. “You might rethink the shirt.”

“What?” 

“Why the camera? You fancy yourself a photographer?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Joe was more of one than I ever was, but I... Well, I just thought maybe if I missed something while I was looking around, the camera might not. We take pictures for memories, so why not? If I could find something here, like that rock he might have hit, then maybe I'd be able to stop asking myself who killed him. I look at everyone in town, and I wonder, and I can't go on doing that. It's not right. So either I'm wrong, and I'll find something here to prove that... or I'll find something that proves he was murdered. If I had that—”

“You're not going to prove it to your chief constable.”

“Don't say that. You don't know that,” she said, frowning at him. He gave her a look, and she sighed. “Teel just needs a reason to look past what he thinks we want to hear.”

Hardy shook his head. “You still think too much of people.”

“And I suppose you don't trust anyone?”

“No. I don't."

* * *

Ellie put a hand to her brow, squinting down the beach to see Tom with Fred and Hardy's daughter. She couldn't tell from here, but she was a little worried about the girl's skirt and her youngest. If he'd been in the sand and then touched her—Ellie winced, hoping she was wrong about that. She didn't want to face his ire over his daughter's attire—or the girl's, for that matter, because she seemed to have just as much of a temper as her father.

She turned back to Hardy, thinking he looked worse today than he had yesterday. He was out of uniform again, though that wasn't all of it. His hair was a mess, his beard unkempt, but it was the eyes, more haunted and sunken than before, and she swore he hadn't been present again. Something about the camera flash had done that, and she remembered Lucy's husband being a bit like that, worse when he was drunk. That man never knew where he was or what he was doing.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“Seriously?” Ellie shook her head. What was wrong with him? “Why are you still here? I thought you were leaving. You were also very determined not to get involved in this, so... I'm not sure why I'm talking to you now.”

He gave her another look and turned away, starting back up the beach. She shook her head before starting after him. She didn't really know what she was doing, though she'd hoped that she could find some way of helping out with Pryer's death. He hadn't killed himself. She knew that, and she couldn't let his killer go free. If Wilmer Stoke had been killed, too, then other veterans might die.

She supposed Hardy didn't care because he wouldn't be here, but he was a soldier. He could be a target, too.

“Have you ever gone after a murderer before?”

He stopped, frowning. “You're not actually thinking of chasing after this person, are you?”

“Every family here was affected by the war. You know I lost my husband and my brother-in-law. If this gets ignored, more soldiers could end up dead. I can't let that happen.”

“And if he goes after you? What about your boys?”

She glanced toward them. She didn't want to leave them without a mother, too. She didn't know if Lucy was the right person to take them in or not, and she did worry about them if something were to happen, but at the same time, she didn't know how she could ignore what she'd seen.

“You were a policeman. I still don't know how you can pretend you don't know what you know.”

He snorted. “You know what four years of war taught me? Some battles can't be won. Your chief constable already has the answer he wants, and I don't feel like fighting him.”

“Couldn't you find the killer without ever interacting with him?”

He shook his head. “No. You wait, Miller. Soon as he gets word of what you're up to, you'll hear from him. It's always the same. Even when they have nothing to gain by opposing you, people with power never appreciate when others intrude on their territory.”

She could see that, a bit, but somehow it still didn't fit. “Is your daughter the reason you don't want to be involved?”

“Why does it matter to you if I am?”

“Because I don't know what I'm doing, but you do, and I would think that soldiers dying would mean something to you.”

He gave her a long hard look and walked away again. She sighed, not sure why she kept pushing. She shouldn't even bother with him, but she thought she was right, that he could help. She even thought, underneath all the rebuffs and grumbling, that he wanted to, that this injustice bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

“What if Matt died because of something in the war? Could you find out where he was and what he did? I didn't think he served with Wilmer, but maybe he did and it is something to do with that.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you're curious,” she said, and when he snorted, she added, “and because I won't stop bothering you until you do.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small town life intrudes a bit on the investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of Ellie's scene came to me so easily and seemed so funny that I had to write it down immediately.
> 
> That was about as good as it got, as the rest of it fought me and didn't go well at all. I like a few of the choices I made, again, but it's been an odd journey and and equally strange day.

* * *

Word spread fast in a small town, and with a lot of war widows fretting about their futures, the fact that the widower at the Trader's was staying on got around fast and with plenty of attention. Becca, of course, had the first chance at any man that might pass through the area, seeing as she gave any stranger who might pay shelter at least for a night, but if there was a man about that might be able to provide for a family, Lucy always found out about it.

Which was, naturally, why her sister was lying in wait when Ellie got back from the beach, ready to pounce. Becca must have told her that Ellie had been by to see Hardy the day before, or maybe it was someone else who'd said, having seen him the day he showed up on her doorstep. Sometimes Ellie hated this town, always knowing everyone's business, even when they didn't have the right to—or the right information.

“Where have you been?” Lucy demanded soon as Ellie was inside.

“Sell,” Fred said, holding one out to his aunt, who patted him on the head distractedly, ignoring him almost completely.

“Tom, would you take your brother upstairs and get him out of those clothes? I'm going to start a bath for you both.”

“Mum, please,” Tom said. “Do I have to? I hate bathing with Fred.”

“You're both a mess from the beach,” she said, “and I'll have to heat the water on the stove. Do you really want to wait hours to be clean and dry?”

He made a face, trudging up the stairs. Ellie went to the sink, filling up a pan to put on the stove. She would like a bath herself, since she'd managed to get herself soaked while trying to find proof of a murder. She lit the burner and repeated the process with the kettle and another pan, all the while trying to ignore her sister.

“So Becca finally admits there's a new man in town,” Lucy said. “Widower, from the sound of it. Has a daughter, and Becca says she's pretty enough. He was in the war, she saw him in uniform once, with medals, even.”

Ellie thought about it, and she had seen a medal on Hardy, one that could even have been a Victoria's Cross, though she wasn't about to ask him about that, as much as she'd already irritated him today. “Medals aren't important.”

“You just say that because Joe died without earning any.”

“Oh, like your husband did any better,” Ellie grumbled, tired of this pointless competition. It didn't matter. They were both dead, and bits of metal didn't make that better or bring them back. She turned to him. “Remember, Luce, Teel's son was buried with a VC, but we all hated him when he was alive. He was a mean, nasty person, even as a child.”

Lucy nodded, shuddering. “To think he said he wanted to marry me.”

At least Lucy had been smart enough not to do that, not that her husband was much better. “I don't think you should go getting your hopes up about every man that passes through the Trader's anyway. They never stay.”

“They just need a reason to,” Lucy countered. “I've got a home, haven't I? A bit of land, too, and that's something for a man to think on. You could do worse. And look at you, standing there, shivering. You need a bath as much as the boys do.”

Ellie grimaced, taking off her jacket. She'd change her clothes as soon as she was done making the boys' bathwater.

“My, my, don't we love courting a scandal?” Lucy asked, looking her over.

Ellie sighed in frustration. “It's just a pair of trousers. Would you all stop acting like it's the end of the world or something? I can't compete with a bloody war, after all.”

Lucy shook her head. “The trousers are only the half of it. You can see straight through that shirt of yours now it's got damp.”

Ellie looked down, and sure enough, just like Pryer's shirt had done when she'd found him, the fabric was clinging to her and showing everything underneath. Her cheeks flamed when she remembered what Hardy had said about rethinking her shirt. God, he'd seen just about everything.

“Didn't think of that one, did you?” Lucy asked with a smirk. “Better pick a different one next time you go out embarrassing yourself.”

A part of her was so mortified she didn't think she'd dare push Hardy about Pryer again, but she also refused to give up on these deaths. She couldn't live with herself, letting a murderer go free. How would she sleep at night? What if he went after one of the boys? Or even someone else? She couldn't stand back and let more people die, not if she knew she could help stop it.

She needed Hardy, much as it galled her.

Next time, though, she'd wear a bloody dress.

* * *

Hardy noticed he was being watched before he was halfway through town. He had thought he'd felt it a bit at the inn, but that wasn't that unusual. Any innkeeper worth anything was mindful of the guests, and this one was apparently a widow hosting men, which should by rights make her more cautious. He hadn't been bothered by her, but as he passed through town and experienced more of this place and its seemingly insatiable curiosity, the more it bothered him, being watched.

Daisy didn't seem to care, if she noticed at all, and he might have been worried the attention was due her—she was a pretty thing just about to become a woman, a fact that still unsettled him as she'd been so young when he went away. He'd missed all her growing up, and now he barely knew the girl beside him so stubbornly bent on becoming a nurse.

She was wind-kissed but still smiling, not minding how badly her hair had been pulled by the breeze or the slight chill of the air. He thought he was due another bad coughing fit, but he was hoping it would wait until after they'd finished at the store.

He was not sure what all they needed, but Daisy said they had to go, and he was starting to realize that even if he didn't trust her to know that, he gave way to her in almost everything.

She was all he had, and while he didn't want her giving up her future to play nursemaid to him forever, he was not ready to let her go just yet.

“Here we go,” Daisy said, tugging him along toward the back of the store. He frowned, not sure what she was after this time, since this was definitely not any sort of food—not that they could cook it in that place they had—or anything else he would have considered necessary.

“Daisy, what is this?”

She gave him a small smile. “I figured the reason you weren't shaving was because you'd lost your razor, and since we're still here for at least today, you might as well get a new one.”

“Oh, did you now?” Hardy asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. This was a bit like something her mother would have done, and he knew he had to fight against treating her like he would have his wife. This sort of thing felt like an ambush, underhanded and wrong. Daisy wasn't doing it to trick him—belatedly, he remembered he had gone clean shaven through most of her childhood, even making the effort to shave before going home on leave, and she must have thought that going without a shave as he had been was unlike him.

Trouble was, he'd fallen into a pattern in the war that suited him, and this was normal for him now.

“Do you mind if I look at the fabric?” Daisy asked, and he stared at her. “I thought maybe I might sew something.”

He nodded, not sure what she'd make or what she might be thinking of—he no longer knew such things, if he ever had. Daisy left him, crossing to the other side of the store, and he looked back at the glass, wondering if it was worth buying a razor for her sake.

He stopped, staring instead at the knives lined across the bottom. He'd seen so many like them, both before the war and after, and this should be nothing—was nothing, he thought to himself, trying to stop himself from remembering.

_The blade scrapped along the wood, over and over again, and Hardy didn't know what was worse, the endless dripping or that damned scrapping. Maybe it was just the waiting. They'd said that he couldn't go back, the enemy was due to attack any time now, and it wasn't safe to try and cross the lines, not when the boundaries had shifted and left his way back to his post in the middle of no man's land._

_He swore it had been hours already, and nothing had happened. He wanted to leave, aware that only one man here outranked him, and should the enemy get to him, they'd expect orders from Hardy instead. He had none to give, since his own instinct was to run. Only a fool would go up against those machine guns, and he didn't remember any mention of a sniper capable of taking them out in this lot._

_He didn't think enough of his own skills to do it, and he was not about to stick a knife on the end of his gun and tell himself he'd survive the charge._

Hardy pulled himself back from his memories, finding no peace as his mind next went back to the wound on that man's body. Had it been done by a bayonet, or was it the work of something more like what was in this case? Fishing knives, the sort almost any man around here might have, that would make it difficult to prove as well.

Miller was a fool, wanting to find this killer. Not that Hardy wanted them running loose, but that didn't mean they were going to be found, either. Someone like this—Hardy didn't imagine that much short of finding them over another body would be the answer they needed.

“She's a lovely girl.”

He jerked, turning to face the woman who'd spoken.

“She your daughter?”

“Aye,” he answered. “She's not causing any—”

“Oh, no, no trouble,” the older woman assured him with a smile. Her hair had yet to go white or even gray, but he could see the weathering of years on her even as she “We do get them sometimes, children what won't behave, tourists and all wanting the beach, but she's very nice for a child that knows her mind.”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“She's quite set on the blue,” the woman went on. “I thought she might like the purple with her coloring, but she was after that blue and not a word would be heard otherwise. And she's fixing to get all I have left.”

“You asking me to stop her?”

The shopkeeper frowned. “Oh, no. I just—I found it—Is there anything else you need besides what your daughter has chosen?”

He looked at the razors again and shook his head. “Not a thing.”

* * *

“Thanks for coming,” Beth said, opening the door to let Ellie inside. “Sometimes I swear Mum's trying to smother me with food, and how are we ever going to eat all this? Danny does his fair share, more than enough, but me and Chloe don't hardly touch it, and with Mark working so much and getting paid in food more than half the time—”

“Don't worry about it. I'm just glad for the excuse to leave the house,” Ellie told her, shifting Fred in her arms. He was still asleep, and she hoped he'd stay that way for a bit longer, else he'd be impossible during the meal. “Lucy's been about ever since I got home, and I swear I'm going to do something I regret if she keeps this up. I know she's lonely, what with Olly off looking for work and no longer having a husband, but that doesn't mean I want her harping on me all the time.”

“Oh, heavens, what now?” Beth asked, shutting the door behind Tom, who was already halfway through the house on his way to find Danny. Ellie figured nothing would ever come between those two, and she quite liked it, since they were a bit like her and Beth.

“Gossip, mostly. I swear, Lucy thinks I'm incapable of hearing it myself, but then she started lecturing me on wearing trousers—”

“You didn't,” Beth said, fighting a smile. “I thought you'd given that up.”

“I did,” Ellie said, carrying Fred over to set him down on the couch, “but Joe's not here to be bothered by it or to wear his clothes, and I needed to do a bit of climbing about, which is impossible in most of my dresses. I swear Lucy helped me get ones that would keep me from doing anything useful on purpose.”

“Sounds a bit like her,” Beth said a little unkindly. “Not like Lucy's ever done much of anything useful in her life.”

Ellie grimaced. She shouldn't agree with that. Lucy was her sister. “There's Olly, I suppose.”

Beth nodded. “I suppose. Was Lucy all about this new fellow that's in town?”

“Oh, you heard about that, did you?”

“Ellie, my mum's the bloody shopkeeper. I know everything, whether I want to or not,” Beth grumbled, not for the first time. She loved her mother, but Ellie knew their relationship had troubles, what with Liz always wanting to do more like Beth was still a child even after two of her own. “Apparently he was there with his daughter.”

“Tell me your mother didn't try and—”

“Make her into Chloe's new best friend? Oh, she did, but all the girl was interested in was a bit of fabric, and her father was rather rude to Mum, so she's put out about it. Honestly, Chloe can make her own friends. She's never hurt for them before, but the moment some girl from out of town comes by, Mum immediately thinks that Chloe's terribly lonely and needs to know her.”

Ellie thought perhaps Daisy might be a bit lonely, traveling here with only that grumpy father of hers for company, but she got on well enough with Tom and Fred that it seemed like she'd do fine making her own way. “At least she's not trying to say that you need to marry him.”

“No, I've still got Mark, thank god for some small favors,” Beth said, and Ellie winced, aware of the arguments between them since Mark came back from the war. He didn't want to share anything with Beth, and he was always gone late into the night even when he wasn't working. “That what Lucy was doing, or has she picked this poor unfortunate for herself?”

“Oh, she thinks I'm past hope again,” Ellie said. “I'm a bit glad of it, since I don't want to be hounded about every man that passes through town. There are more important things to worry about right now.”

“Yeah,” Beth said. She sighed. “You know that new vicar is going to allow Matt Pryer to be buried in the cemetery, right?”

“I hadn't heard that yet,” Ellie said, not sure why that rumor hadn't reached her through Lucy. “I suppose there's a fuss about that, then.”

“Oh, you know how it is. Half the town says suicide's a sin and no church burial for him, and the rest of town going on like he's the greatest hero that ever fought a war and should be given a procession. Bloody nightmare, the whole thing.”

“Is Nige upset about it?” Ellie asked. “Weren't he and Matt mates?”

“Well, they fought together,” Beth said, frowning a bit as she tried to remember, “but I don't know as they were ever that close. He still follows Mark like a puppy, the way he's done since he were little, and I think it was hard for anyone to have a place there.”

Ellie nodded, though she wanted to talk to Nigel about Matt anyway. “I didn't tell you—I found Matt. I mean, his body. It was on the shore, and I found it.”

“You did?” Beth was both a bit horrified and a bit hurt that Ellie hadn't mentioned it before. “Why did you—”

“I've been preoccupied. I'm sorry. It's just... I'm pretty sure he didn't commit suicide.”

Beth stared at her. “How can you know that?”

Ellie took a deep breath and told her everything.

* * *

Hardy woke to a knock on his door. He glanced over at the other bed, but Daisy was still asleep, her project lying on her lap. She'd worked on it until late, muttering to herself the entire time as she grumbled about how uncooperative the fabric was. He'd left her to it when he went to see about something for her to eat, and she was actually in a better mood when he got back, but he still didn't understand what the point of it all was.

He dragged himself up out of the chair and toward the door, thinking it must have been the innkeeper. She probably wanted to know how much longer they were staying and possibly part of their bill. He opened the door and frowned.

“Miller? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Are you going to ask me that every time you see me?”

“Maybe if you'd stop showing up at the most ridiculous times and places when you've got no business being there, I wouldn't have to,” he said, leaning against the door frame. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yes,” she said. “I couldn't come any earlier. I had dinner with Beth, and I heard a few things, and I had to wait until the boys were asleep to leave again.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn't be here at all. What part of I want nothing to do with this business don't you understand?”

“I understand you _say_ it, but I don't think you mean it,” she said, and he glared at her. She plunged on, ignoring him again. “Beth said that the vicar is going to give Matt Pryer a church burial, and I was thinking that—”

“He's letting Pryer be buried in the cemetery despite the suicide?” Hardy asked. “Who is this vicar? Young one? Popular sort? Does he get on with the chief constable? Or is this some way of thumbing his nose at him? And when's the service?”

“You and your questions,” she said. “Paul Coates, and he's a bit young. A lot young compared to the last one who died in his nineties, but he's not a child, either, not fresh out of seminary. More like... well, I suppose he's near enough to my age, not that I'm saying I'm old or anything—”

“Miller.”

“Right,” she said, shaking her thoughts off. “He's having the service tomorrow, which means if we were going to have another look at the body, we'd have to do it tonight.”

Hardy stared at her. “You want to go look at the body again?”

“Well... no, not really, except there's this part of me that's saying I'm insane, and if I just looked at him again, I could prove he wasn't stabbed at all and let it all go,” she said. She turned her head up, meeting his eyes with a plea. “I talked to Beth about it. She didn't say I was crazy, but she wasn't sure about me getting involved in all this, and when I'm honest with myself, I don't want any part of it, but I can't ignore what I know. That's why I was at the beach, and it's—oh, hell, I didn't want to think about that—can you just tell me I'm being stupid and send me on my way?”

He snorted. “I have, and you haven't listened.”

She sighed. “I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“Don't, then. Go home, and forget all about this.”

“I can't. I've tried. I didn't sleep at all last night, and I couldn't sleep tonight, and I'm here, in the middle of the night, asking you to take me to see a dead body. I know how this is, I know it's crazy, but I can't stop until I know that Matt's killer isn't going to hurt anyone else.”

She'd have made an interesting detective, Hardy thought, not that anyone would have hired her for it, since policing was men's work, but he had yet to meet anyone that was as determined as her. Not even Murray was as dogged, though he'd accused Hardy of it often enough.

“This is a terrible idea.”

“I know.”

He looked back at his daughter. He didn't want Daisy involved in any of this, but here he was, actually contemplating agreeing to see Miller to the undertaker's. She was right. This was insane.

“Let's go.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night visit to the undertaker's is... awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I had this whole bit planned out between Hardy and Miller where they discuss something else during this part, but the conversation turned on me, and I think I like this one, so I'll leave it and try and work the other one in later.
> 
> And next time I try to get all historical and realistic, I should really remember I don't do research well and hate writing action. *sigh*
> 
> Oh, and if images of war bother you, well... there's a part you'll probably want to skip that, though I'm not one who does gore or overly descriptive stuff but you know... it's there.

* * *

“How are you feeling?”

Hardy stopped, turning to face Miller, not sure why he was hearing this. They had gone most of the way in silence, and that now seemed like a miracle, since she didn't seem to understand the need for secrecy, especially on an errand like this. It wasn't like they'd been asked to look at this body. They were going without permission, sneaking about in the night like criminals.

“The hell are you asking me that for?” he demanded, trying to control his temper and keep things as quiet as they needed to be.

“I just... it's cold, and I was a bit worried that you might start coughing again, and if you did, people might hear you and we'd be caught out.”

“You're worried about me coughing? With you whispering like a bloody gramophone?”

She glared at him, but he ignored her as he moved forward. He'd seen the sign for the undertaker's when he was out with Daisy earlier, and he remembered where it was, unable to forget. Those sorts of things stuck with a person, the way the war continued to linger, never letting go of its hold on them all.

He stopped at the back of the shop, eying the door with apprehension and a silent curse. He hadn't even thought about how they were getting inside. How the hell had he been stupid enough to let Miller talk him into this? He should be back in his room with Daisy. Asleep, if at all possible, though that was rarer now than it was before the war, and even then it wasn't common for him to make it through the night.

“How exactly were you planning on going in?”

Miller folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, I'm a master thief, don't you know? I've got tools for it and everything.”

“Oh, fine, then. I'll arrest you for that after we're done committing crimes of our own.”

She snorted. “It's Charlie Williams' place, and Charlie doesn't know the meaning of a lock. Sometimes I think he doesn't know the meaning of a door. Go ahead. Open it.”

Somehow, that didn't seem like a good idea. None of this was, and he still didn't know why he was here. “You do it.”

“What, you think that I'm trying to get you caught?”

“I don't know what the hell you're doing, Miller,” he snapped. “Just open the bloody door so we can get this over with. I'm not about to spend the entire night out here freezing my arse off and arguing with you. You want to do this, get it done.”

She gave him a look, taking the step over to yank on the door. He frowned when it creaked, and she grimaced as she ducked inside. He followed after her, pulling the door shut behind him. He collided with her in the dark and swore.

“Bloody hell, Miller. Why are you still right in front of the damned door?”

“I can't see,” she said, “I was going to get some light, but you came blundering in and nearly knocked me over. Move back so I can get into my bag, will you?”

He did, almost bumping into something else. He waited, and then she held up a lantern, casting light around the room. He frowned. “What if someone sees that?”

“They won't. Since this place is on the high street, the town made Charlie cover the windows. Otherwise, it would be unseemly, you know. He pitched a fit, but he lost that fight and had to put in heavy, thick curtains. You can't see anything through them. The kids figured that out for everyone last Halloween. God, what a nightmare that was.”

He didn't ask, not wanting to know. “Where is the body?”

“Over here, I think,” she said. “I haven't actually had much reason to be in here before. Even when my parents died—well, I made the arrangements since Lucy was useless, but Charlie came by the house to do it, and Joe was there.”

Hardy ignored that, not wanting to think about her husband, either. He knew far more about that man than he wanted to, and he was aware that she remained ignorant of her husband's actions toward his son. He knew there were reasons why she should, her son among them, but the boy wouldn't want that, even if it might be the right thing. He didn't know that it would be. Chances were, stubborn as she was, she wouldn't believe him, just accuse him of blackening her husband's name and hate him forever.

The temptation came then, to level what he knew at her as a weapon, force her to leave him be, but even as he had the thought, he knew he wouldn't. She'd gotten him this far because a part of him wanted to find this killer—this wasn't curiosity, it was a sense of justice that was a damned nuisance—and alienating her now would only give him another reason to lose sleep at night. He was caught up in this, responsible, and he did worry that she was right—without him this killer would not be caught.

“Oh, the smell,” she said, pinching her nose. “I'd forgotten how bad rot was. I used to be immune, all that time on the water with the fish, but after I got married, I didn't do that anymore. Stopped going out with my dad on the boat, stopped wearing trousers, stopped being anything but a mother. I don't know when, but somewhere in there, I lost myself.”

Hardy leaned over the body, checking the wound. Her words unsettled him, but any response he came up with—about how half the women he'd met wanted nothing but that motherhood thing, had even gone after him for marriage and he was no prize, or about how lost they all were after this bloody war—felt wrong and left him without anything to say.

“What do you think?” Miller asked, holding the lantern over the wound. “That wasn't a rock, was it? A cut from a rock would have other marks around it and be more uneven and rough, right? This is straight and narrow and... It had to have been a knife, right?”

He shook his head. “No, Miller. Shape like that... Almost had to have been a bayonet.”

“How do you know?”

“Kind of hard not to know it when you almost died that way. You want to forget, but you can't,” he said, unable to look at her. “And if you've killed someone that way... impossible.”

* * *

_They were overrun. The enemy had flanked them late in the night, slipping silently past murdered sentries to surprise them. Exhausted after days of heavy artillery fire followed by eerie silence, most of the troops had succumbed to sleep hours ago. They'd known the attack was coming, the barrage a warning sign, but as the day dragged on, they'd faltered. Hardy knew they were only human, and he didn't know how they did this day in and day out. The French had it worse, he'd heard, and it wasn't hard to believe, not trapped down in the dirt hoping that this hole would save them rather than swallow them alive._

_He was still awake past most of the men around him, his mind on the last letter from Tess. His mind kept going over the words, putting meanings there that probably weren't true, but all the same, he couldn't shake that feeling. He knew she wasn't telling him something, and he didn't want it to be about Daisy, though her section on their daughter was long and detailed, unlike the sparse part about herself, lacking even a mention of missing him at all._

_That was implied, he supposed, but she'd always said it before, and now she wasn't. Daisy missed him, but Tess spoke only of Liza and her husband and some stupid party that she'd gone to without and something about food. He couldn't remember it now, and it was too dark to read it again._

_He heard something and turned, getting sideswiped by the blade instead of gutted, and he absurdly had the voice of Murray in his head, telling him he was fortunate he was such a skinny bastard or he'd be dead already. That thought wasn't much comfort as the pain hit and he scrambled for his weapon, fumbling as he struck back blindly, calling out a warning to the others and raising the alarm._

_That was it, then. He was a crap soldier, a joke, but he'd done his part, sounding the bloody alarm, and that was all he was going to do, stuck between his men and the entire group of the enemy. He didn't even think he'd last long enough to slow them down or take any of them with him._

_And for some stupid reason, all he could think about was that damned letter and whatever it was that Tess wasn't telling him._

* * *

“Hardy,” Ellie said, not sure if she dared shake the man or not. She'd heard a bit about this sort of thing, rumors going around about soldiers losing themselves and forgetting where they were, going back to the war. Lucy proclaimed herself an expert somehow and said they were all about cowardice, which had led to a few nasty words about her husband and how she knew that was what it was, things Ellie doubted Lucy had forgiven her for. It was like this disease going around, the need to believe that even the worst of the men who'd gone off to war were somehow saints when they died.

She didn't believe that, not even with Joe, and he'd been good to her before she lost him.

She also didn't think that Hardy was a coward, even with all his protests and stubbornness about this murder. She didn't know why. It would have been easier to write him off as a coward and be done with it, not bother with anything else, but she had stuck with it, pushing again and again, and now he was here with her.

It was about to be a disaster, though, if she couldn't pull him back from wherever the hell he was.

She put her hand on his arm and he jerked away from her. She backed up, almost afraid he'd hit her, but he didn't make a move, still lost. She didn't know what to do. She swallowed, raising her voice. “Hardy?”

He didn't answer. She tried reaching out again, this time not going for somewhere a soldier might have touched and telling herself she was a fool even as her hand made contact with his face. His beard was strange after Joe, who never let himself grow anything at all, not even on his head, she used to joke, and she somehow found herself taking his hand with her other one.

“Hardy?”

He seemed to pull himself together finally, head shaking as his eyes cleared, focusing on her just as she let go, hoping he wouldn't realize what she'd done in trying to wake him. He took a step back, like he didn't recognize her.

“Miller?”

“Did you fall asleep?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I don't know. Maybe you sleep standing up,” she said. “All I know is that I couldn't get an answer out of you for a good fifteen minutes after you said it was a bayonet. Which, of course, means murder. Unless it was an old wound from the war—”

“The armistice was months ago. It would have healed by now,” Hardy said, still pale and trembling ever so slightly. He moved his hands out of her sight, turning away from her. “You saw what you needed to see?”

“Yeah. Even tried to get a few pictures before I realized you weren't with me anymore.”

“What?”

“I told you—it was like you were asleep standing up.”

He glared at her. “I meant about the photographs. You go about taking pictures of the dead all the time, do you?”

She shook her head. “No, not often. This is the first time, actually, and it was a bit... grotesque, but I know they're going to bury him, and we need something, don't we? Though with my skills and this light, they'll probably be terrible and useless. I should have asked Beth. She's good. She has a real eye for that sort of thing. She used to wander around everywhere taking pictures.”

“You and your wittering,” he muttered. “We need to go. Now.”

* * *

Ellie didn't want to drag herself out of bed even as Fred bounded in, little fists curling into her sheets and pounding on the side of her mattress, begging for her to help him up. She must have been out for a while, long enough for Fred to wake his brother and Tom to get him out of the crib and send him to her. She should have been home sooner—well, no, almost everyone would tell her she shouldn't have gone at all.

She'd given up on trying to tell herself that, even if she felt horrible upon seeing her son waiting there so helplessly. He was too little for that, and Tom knew better. Still, it was Ellie's fault, not being awake when she should have been.

She picked Fred up and headed downstairs, stopping with a start when she heard someone in her kitchen. She swallowed, worried for a minute that somehow someone knew about the visit she and Hardy had made last night and was here to threaten her.

She set Fred down, telling him to stay where he was as she went into the kitchen.

“There you are,” Lucy said from the stove. “I swear, El, you're hopeless. What are you doing still in bed at this hour?”

“What is it to you? What are you doing in my kitchen?” Ellie demanded. She felt something hit her legs, and she looked down to see Fred there. She lifted him back into her arms.

“I'm making breakfast since you're too much of a layabout to do it,” Lucy told her. “Go set the table. I'm almost done.”

“Lucy, this is my house. If breakfast is a bit late, then it is a bit late. It's my business, not yours. You may be my sister, but you don't come here and just do as you please. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own children.”

“That's not how it looked when I got here,” Lucy told her. “You're still in bed, little Fred screaming his head off—”

“One bloody morning,” Ellie snapped. “You're here on the _one_ morning I don't get up at dawn and do everything I'm supposed to and make judgments about my life? If you were so concerned about Fred crying, why didn't you go after him instead of helping yourself to my food? That's why you're really here, isn't it?”

“How dare you,” Lucy said, but from the tone she used, Ellie could tell that he was right. Must be the end of the month again, and Lucy had run out of money again. Ellie didn't know how she always managed to run through her pension money so fast, but if she wasn't careful, she'd have nothing by the time the pension ran out, if as they said it was only going to last a year after the war ended.

Ellie shook her head, going out of the room again before she said something she would regret.

She took Fred up the stairs again, carrying him to his room to get him dressed. She picked a simple but nice outfit for him. She wanted to dress him plainer to spite Lucy, but she'd just use that against Ellie as well, telling her she had no idea what was proper for a funeral. She was wrong, of course, but that never stopped Lucy before.

Ellie dressed herself in what she'd worn for her father's funeral. Joe's body never came back from the front, and she had yet to organize a trip to visit it. She'd mentioned the idea to Tom, and he'd looked horrified, which was actually a relief, as she had no idea how they'd afford such a thing. They had Joe's pension, and that was it, no real savings. Joe never thought they needed any, and had he lived, she supposed he might have been right about that.

She checked Tom's room, but he wasn't there, so she brought Fred back down, knowing that she'd find Tom with his face full. He didn't actually like Lucy's cooking, no one did, but he liked food and would eat just about anything.

She put Fred down in his chair. “You'll need to change, Tom.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“They're burying Matt Pryer today, and we're going to the service,” Ellie told him. He stared at her, and she sighed. “I know we didn't know him well, sweetheart, but I think it's right we go. It's important.”

“The other kids—all except that girl Daisy—they're all saying that he was a coward and he doesn't deserve a burial.”

“I think they're wrong,” Ellie said. “We don't know what the war was like for him, and we don't know that he took his own life. Something else could have happened, and it's not like—”

“Since when are you all friendly about cowards?”

“Lucy, do not start with me now,” Ellie warned her. “Tom, please go up and change. Soon as I've fed Fred, we'll be off and—”

A loud knock on the door interrupted her, and everyone but Fred frowned. He banged on his chair, gurgling noises at himself.

“What the hell?” Ellie muttered, leaving the others to rush toward the front door. She knew she wasn't expecting anyone—Lucy shouldn't even be here—so why was she suddenly overwhelmed with company.

She opened the door and stared. Looking little better than she felt, Hardy was standing on her doorstep again, this time in uniform, and she could, actually, see the VC medal hanging on it along with his other honors.

“Five bloody churches,” he said without any kind of greeting. “How the hell does a town this size have five bloody churches?”

Daisy, standing next to him, bit her lip, looking like she might be trying not to laugh.

Ellie wasn't sure what to think herself. “I didn't know you were religious, sir.”

He snorted. “Don't be stupid, Miller.”

Ellie almost shut the door on him. “Then next time, don't come to my house. I don't even know why you're here. Seriously. What is this? It was a long, late night, and I am so not in the mood for your grumpiness after my sister—”

“You and your incessant wittering,” he said, leaning closer to her like he didn't want his daughter to hear what he was about to say. “Pryer's killer may be at this funeral. We need to be there, see if anyone's acting strangely.”

“You think whoever it was will be that obvious?”

“You'd better hope he is, Miller. Or no one is ever going to find him.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy and Ellie attend the funeral for Matt Pryer, but their attempt at investigation is far from what they hoped it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interesting things happen when you go researching historical stuff. You realize your timelines don't work. I doubt what I chose works, but as I have it very firmly in my head that Hardy was gassed at the second battle of Ypres in 1915 and the draft didn't start until 1916, I... made something up. I didn't see Hardy who was already working as a peacekeeper with a wife and child joining up by choice, and I couldn't talk myself out of that, either.
> 
> So... that part's a stretch, but it fit to a point, and I'll stick to it.

* * *

“I like a man in uniform,” Lucy whispered, and Ellie grimaced, wishing she'd gotten everyone going earlier so they wouldn't have been there when Hardy showed up to ask which of the churches the funeral was at. He'd left with his daughter ahead of her when she'd gone back inside for the boys, and she'd hoped that was all of it, at least for now.

Of course not. She should be so lucky. Lucy had spotted Hardy soon as they walked in, and between her inability to handle money and her usual self, she'd been obnoxious ever since, not really talking in a whisper about him.

Ellie wanted to crawl back into her own bed and stay there. Beth had given her a look of sympathy, but some of the others were looking on with disapproval, including Mrs. Knight, the town matriarch. Lucy gave her a smug look, and Ellie was sure she'd hear all about how even a woman set to inherit as much as Jocelyn had couldn't get married thanks to that old witch. Again. She swore that Lucy would only be worse if she was drinking, and a part of her had to wonder if that was why Lucy was short on money again.

“I don't think that there's a man in town that fits it better,” Lucy said, nudging her with her elbow. “Did you see the way—”

“Lucy,” Ellie snapped, unable to take it anymore. “Enough. We are in a church. At a funeral.”

Lucy shook her head. “Sometimes, El, I swear they should just have buried with Joe. It's like you're not alive at all.”

Ellie took a breath, preparing herself to escort her sister right out of the building when the music started and the new vicar came out in his robes, walking to the podium. She looked at him, hoping this meant that Lucy would be quiet for the rest of the service.

She saw Hardy move to sit down with his daughter instead of lurking in the back of the church, and Daisy said something to him, but Ellie couldn't make it out. Even if she'd been close enough to hear it, Lucy's dramatic sigh would have drowned it out.

Ellie almost regretted asking him for help with the murder now. Not because she thought she could do it all on her own—she knew better, Broadchurch didn't have that sort of thing, no murders before, unless one counted a couple hundred year old legends, which she didn't. No, she knew that by convincing him to stay, she'd made it inevitable that Hardy would have a run in with Lucy if not every other widow in town, and while Ellie wanted to enjoy his discomfort, she didn't wish her sister on anyone. Ever.

She tried to focus on what Coates was saying about Matt, having not realized he must have known the man rather well, but everyone around her was fidgeting—Lucy and both boys. She'd have to try and talk to Paul later, see if he could tell them anything that might help.

She glanced toward Hardy, wondering if he'd had the same thought, and she managed to catch him just as he started coughing. He rose, stumbling out of the pew and to the back of the church, disappearing outside.

Daisy hesitated, eying Paul and the church with discomfort before running out after her father. Ellie winced, knowing someone needed to help both of them. Even if she was almost grown, it couldn't be easy on her, watching her father like that, and she shouldn't have to bear that burden alone.

Though not if Lucy had anything to say about it, Ellie thought with a wince. Unless, of course, him being sick was enough to make her rethink her “must get any man” idea.

Ellie had a terrible feeling she knew what was going to happen when it came time for lunch, and she wanted no part of it. She figured Lucy could use someone to keep her in line, but Hardy was all wrong for that—man needed a minder of his own that was _not_ his daughter.

She turned her attention back to Paul, wincing when she realized it was now time to sing.

* * *

“You've been sick a lot here,” Daisy said, and her father sighed. She knew what was coming—he was about to tell her that he wasn't sick—but she'd picked the easier battle this time. He'd done that sleeping standing up thing again, lost back somewhere in the war, and those actually worried her more than the coughing fits. Yeah, those were scary like he might stop breathing, but he didn't know where he was when he drifted off, and sometimes she thought he'd hurt someone when he was so lost.

And then, of course, he got all bothered by them and angry, embarrassed and lashing out about it, making him almost impossible. He did try not to yell at her, saving most of his yelling for that woman, Miller, lately, and before that it was Liza, who'd been sure he couldn't care for a child in his state.

Daisy didn't want her aunt to be right about him, but she was worried. He seemed to be doing worse, and if that were true, they would take him away from her. She'd already lost her mum. She didn't want to lose her dad.

“I'm fine, Daisy. That church was just... musty. Breathing it in was a mistake. I thought I felt it by the door, but as long as I was there, I had the breeze to keep it away. Sat down. Shouldn't have, but that's done now.”

She sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. The bench was cold, and she would rather be inside, even if it was a funeral for someone she didn't know. “You're staying to find that man's killer, right?”

“Daisy—”

“I'm just wondering where we go next. You think we should wander from town to town, finding more people who need your help—”

“Ach, and why would I do that? I'm not the sort that goes about helping people. What makes you think that? How long was I gone that you got it in your head I'm some kind of hero?”

Daisy touched his medals, and he stiffened. “Don't these say you are?”

“They'd do anything to keep us out there and make us think we'd win. Don't believe them.”

“Why do you wear the medals, then?”

He sighed. “It's part of the uniform. Sort of. And where else would I put them?”

Daisy didn't know. They didn't have a house anymore, no home, and even if he'd had a place at her aunt's, Liza would have thrown it out to spite him. Like it was his fault what her mum did and that she was dead. It wasn't. He hadn't been there, but that wasn't his choice, either.

She could still remember that night, her parents arguing late into it, unable to sleep with their raised voices, his in disbelief and anger, hers in something else Daisy had never quite understood.

_“I'm not some wide eyed farm boy,” her father snapped. “I know better than anyone what waits me over there, so why the hell are they pulling me?”_

_“You have your orders, Alec,” her mum said. “You have a duty—”_

_“A duty? Is that how you're going to romanticize it? You can't stand having a copper for a husband, so you want me to go off and distinguish myself out there? Bloody hell, Tess. You knew what I was when you married me. I'm sorry if your little rebellion didn't get you what you wanted, but you're not going to tell me I haven't done my duty all these years. Don't you dare.”_

_“Don't be like that,” her mother said. “It was never just about defying my father, and you know it. I was only saying you can't fight the draft, that's all. I know most of the men going are volunteers, the same farm boys you were just mocking, but that's not how it is for you. They need you.”_

_“You know that's not true. He's been looking for a reason to be rid of me for years. Now he has it. Not sure how he convinced the head office they needed a bloody civilian to train their troops, but he's got me anyway. Either I go, or I'm forever branded a coward.”_

_“I'm a bit glad of it,” her mum said. “No, listen to me. If you're with the army's police force, you'll be safe. You'll be far from the fighting. It's what's best.”_

_“What's best? Tess, I left behind rounding up drunks years ago. I fought hard to get where I am against the politics that treat being a Scot like a crime in of itself, and I am not going back to that.”_

_“You don't have any choice.”_

Daisy grimaced. She hated remembering that night. Her father had been so angry, and he'd wanted to get a lawyer, find out if what his supervisor had done was even legal, but that never happened. Her father went off to the war, and Daisy didn't think she'd ever see him again.

“Do you remember what you told that boy last year? The one who called you names when he saw your uniform, all mad that his father had gone off and died on them?”

“Daisy—”

“You told him every child's father should be his hero. Not because he died but because he went and fought instead of hiding from it, even if that was what he might have wanted to do. And you asked him if he thought his father wanted to be dead, and he started crying and held onto you for what seemed like hours—”

“I just wanted him to shut up.”

“You could have yelled at him,” Daisy said. “You didn't, and I liked that. That made you my hero.”

“Oh, now you're just getting—”

“I don't think I ever told you this, but I don't... I know you had to go. I've never blamed you for it. I was worried about you, and I still am, and I can't say as I'm glad you went, but I didn't ever think—I didn't get angry with you for going away, no matter how much I wanted you back.”

He put his arm around her. “You're too good for me. Have no idea how I ended up with you for a daughter.”

She snorted. “This morning you told me I was bloody impossible.”

“You are. And watch your language, even if you are repeating me.”

“I don't mind going wherever we're needed,” she told him. “Here or some other town. And I am going to be a nurse.”

“See?” he said. “Bloody impossible.”

She laughed into his coat, reminded again just how much she hated his uniform.

* * *

“That's it, then. I'm inviting him round yours for dinner,” Lucy said, and Ellie stared at her sister in horror. They were supposed to be watching the procession, going out with the others to see Matt Pryer buried, not chatting up the pair standing outside the church. Hardy looked a bit better out here, but that was probably the lighting inside the church making him look pale against all those rocks. Out in the sunshine, he didn't seem quite on death's door, though that was debatable.

“You are not inviting him,” Ellie said, trying to grab hold of Lucy before she left, but she wasn't fast enough and she slipped past, headed for the bench.

“Oh, Mark, go over and stop her, please,” Beth said, and Mark stared at her for a moment, but she pushed him on. “It's a funeral, and we're not having this. Not even from Lucy. You can tell him he's welcome round ours if he likes, but don't leave him up to Lucy's seduction, such as it is.”

Mark snorted. “That woman couldn't seduce anyone if she were sober.”

“Mark,” Beth hissed, and Ellie gave her hand a grateful squeeze. At least she still had Beth on her side. She didn't know what she'd do if she lost that like most everything else thanks to her sister. For all that Lucy was supposedly the more 'ladylike' of the two of them, she was also the more impossible to deal with, and her drinking was almost as bad as her late husband's had been. “We need to get her under control until we find Olly.”

He nodded then, going over to Hardy's side. Ellie looked back at the procession. Beth had said Nige didn't know Matt that well, but he was there, helping carry the casket. That made him someone else to talk to, and since Nige always turned up at the Latimer's when there was food to be had, Ellie had to make sure that Hardy accepted the invitation.

Damn it.

If Lucy knew she knew Hardy, her sister would do nothing but pester her until Hardy came over, since now Ellie figured she was bound and determined to get another husband before the pension ran out. Ellie shook her head, not wanting to think about that for herself. Right now, she got by, and she'd find some kind of job later. She didn't have to harass every single man or widower in town to have a way to provide for her family.

Still, she had a few ideas about where this whole investigation thing should go, but she wasn't sure how to ask Nige or Paul the questions that would get them what they needed to know. She wasn't even sure that Nige would talk to her. He'd probably give her a funny look, ask her what was going on, and ignore her. And she barely knew Paul Coates to speak to, so she wasn't sure that would work, either.

She sighed. Sometimes things got unbelievably stupidly complicated just because she was a woman. She didn't want anyone thinking she was like Lucy and trying to find someone to provide for her, and definitely not Nigel, he was still mostly a kid himself. Paul Coates was a bit... too religious for her, even if his service had been nice enough.

She hated that she even had to consider the idea that people would assume her talking to them meant that. She'd just tell Hardy to do it, but she wasn't sure he would, or if he did, that he'd tell her what they discussed.

She was going to have to be there when he had the conversation, that was all. She also figured someone had to apologize for Lucy, and Lucy wasn't likely to do it, though she might have won herself an invitation to Beth and Mark's as well.

Ellie crossed over to her sister's side. “Lucy, I think it's time you were home.”

To her surprise, Lucy nodded. “Oh, yes. I think I'd better change before I meet you all for dinner. Black really isn't my color.”

Ellie stared at her sister for a minute, words failing her, but Lucy bounced off, and Mark looked relieved. He excused himself, returning to Beth's side, leading her and the boys down to the grave site. Beth gave her another smile, and Ellie nodded before turning back to Hardy.

“Don't tell me you know that awful woman.”

She winced. “My sister.”

“Bloody hell, Miller,” Hardy said. “As if you weren't bad enough. That woman is... She's... There's not a fit thing to call her in this company.”

Daisy bit her lip. “She was kind of... forward. Brazen, even. You know, like that neighbor we had that went around calling Mum a brazen—”

“Daisy.”

She stopped, blushing a bit. Hardy's daughter was mostly a sweetheart, which seemed wrong with him as a father. Ellie gave her a smile. “I apologize for Lucy's behavior. She tends to get bad at the end of the month when her pension's run out and she's afraid of how she'll support herself. I mean—oh, that is so not what I meant to say. Forget I mentioned that about my sister. Please.”

“Either shut up or get to the point, Miller. We were supposed to be watching for anyone acting strange, but thanks to my lungs and your sister, that doesn't seem to have happened.”

She almost flinched. “No, it didn't, but I think Lucy's desperation may work out for you.”

“Excuse me? I am not marrying that woman even if I am between houses and jobs and have a bit of a problem with my lungs—”

“Oh, god, no,” she said. “I swear, if you go close to marrying my sister, you won't have to worry about your lungs. No, I was just—the invitation to the Latimer's. Nigel will be there, and he served with Matt in the war. You can talk to him there. And Paul Coates will probably get invited, too, since it's the thing to do, and I was surprised by how much he knew about Matt. Oh, and there will be people there Daisy's age. Chloe, their daughter, for one.”

Daisy snorted. “Most girls my age are idiots who think only about who they're going to marry and if he has money.”

“Not Chloe,” Ellie said, though she knew Beth had been worried about the boys already starting to come around the girl, even with Mark running them off best he could. “Look, you don't have to like her, but give her a chance. It'll give you something to do while your father investigates.”

“I never said I was going to this dinner, Miller.”

“Of course you are. It's a good opportunity, and the last one got ruined by my sister, so you have to,” Ellie told him. “Besides, if she really is drunk, she won't make it back for dinner. I don't think there will be any other widows there to throw themselves at you, so you'll be safe.”

He glared at her. “The hell did I do to get stuck with you?”

She smiled back at him before going to collect the boys.

* * *

To Hardy's dismay, Daisy had, actually, decided she liked Chloe Latimer, and those two were almost inseparable a few minutes after meeting each other. He'd heard Chloe say she wasn't smart enough herself to be a nurse but she wasn't wanting to marry the first bloke who came around, either, which apparently was enough for those two. Miller gave him a smile of triumph, and he glared at her in return.

He didn't begrudge Daisy friends. One of them should have a life, and his had been over since he went to the war.

He found himself on the edge of the group, watching them all without much to go on, barely more than names to go with faces that he almost forgot as soon as Miller said them.

All the same, it wasn't that surprising to have Mark show up beside him and pass him a drink without a word.

“Had enough death out there,” Mark said, eyes on the distance, as though he could will the water to swallow up that other world that had been the battlefield they'd known. “Don't see why it has to follow us back here.”

Latimer was one of the ones who was determined to forget it all. Pretend what happened there only stayed there, didn't come with you and as long as you didn't talk about it, stayed gone forever. Hardy wouldn't have believed that even if his lungs hadn't been damaged, a reminder that made it impossible to forget anything from that time.

“Tell that to someone who wasn't at Ypres,” Hardy almost snapped, and Latimer frowned. “Oh, you saw the patch on my arm and thought, MFP, didn't fight a damned day, has no idea what it was really like. You're the one that seems to be ignorant of what it was actually like. You think it's possible to forget that? Bloody ridiculous.”

Latimer looked back at his family. “I've been trying. For them. Trying to be what I was. I scare them. I know I do. My son looks at me like he doesn't know me, and I think it's best to stay away. Then she gets mad, says I don't talk to her, but how do I talk to her about that?”

“I don't have answers for you,” Hardy told him. He didn't know how to salvage his own life, and in many ways, he was floundering more than the man who still had a home and employment. Hardy had neither, and he shouldn't even be here.

Latimer drank from his glass, nodding his head. His eyes were still on the distance when he said, “Except you might, mate.”

“What?”

“You were at the funeral for Matt Pryer, weren't you? So you knew him.”

“I never said that.”

“Then why are you here, if not because of him? Was it Wilmer Stoke, then? You know why they killed themselves?”

Hardy looked at him. “What interests me is why you're so curious about it.”

“Everybody's talking.”

“Not to me,” Hardy disagreed. While the town had been friendly enough, only Miller had gone past the formal greetings and polite chit chat to have actual conversations with him. “So why are you so interested, Mark? Are you afraid I came here to prove it was suicide?”

“I didn't—”

“Or that I might know it was murder?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy interviews a few people at the party. Daisy makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always knew where I wanted this chapter to end.
> 
> It was not easy to get there, as usual. I almost threw out the scene with Daisy, Chloe, and Beth, but I needed it in for the end scene, so... it stayed. It's interesting knowing so many bits and pieces of what's to come and who did it and not how to get to them or write them.

* * *

“Murder?” 

Hardy didn't know why that word seemed so impossible. They'd lived through four years of wholesale murder, and he didn't see why the word still seemed foreign to everyone's ears. A town like this knew death as a natural course of life—through illness and old age, the occasional loss to the sea. Maybe a pub fight, though that was rare. Hardy had seen a lot more than that, both before and after leaving Scotland.

He was tired of death even before the war, but he'd managed to become a detective, and he wasn't turning away from that, not when he was needed to stop girls like his Daisy ending up dead in alleys or brothels. She was still a child, but he'd seen that, and he had to do what he could against it, no matter how little it was.

“I suppose you believe it was suicide because you're tempted by it,” Hardy went on, getting an angry glare from Latimer. “You already said as much. You feel like you're drowning on dry land, alive but unable to cope with what you've become trying to fit into your old life. You're a round peg that's been squared and no longer fits in its place.”

Latimer shook his head. “You know nothing about me.”

“That's just it, isn't it? We're all supposedly the same, those of us who went to war. We're all lumped into the same category. Lucky. Strong. Brave. That's what the ones that come back are. Those that didn't... they get brave. Honorable. Those that can't stand being back, who don't know how to live with the war—cowards. It's almost as bad as not going, coming back with any sort of... feeling about the war. It's a weakness, admitting it changed you.”

Latimer drank from his cup again. “You make too much sense.”

Hardy almost laughed. “I only know what to say when I'm interrogating someone.”

“Is that what this is?”

“I was under the impression you might know a thing or two about Wilmer Stoke or Matt Pryer,” Hardy said. “What made you go to the funeral? Most people wouldn't. He was labeled a suicide.”

“Doesn't mean he done it, does it? Just because that's what they say,” Latimer muttered. “You said murder. You don't believe it.”

“I'm more interested in why you don't.”

Latimer put his hands in his pockets, hunching up a bit. “Dunno. Just... didn't seem like him. Didn't know him well, Nige knew him better. He was all set to enlist when I did, but he were too young then, and so he ended up with Matt's lot.”

“And Stoke? Was he part of that lot or yours?”

“Neither. Think the draft got him in '17. Not sure. Wasn't here, but he never planned on going. Me, I thought I wanted it. Nige thought he did because I did.”

There it was, Hardy thought. Latimer blamed himself for dragging his friend into the war. It wasn't just about what the war had done to him, it was about the friend as well. “Just because they volunteered doesn't exclude them from being suicides.”

“Yeah, but Matt... I dunno. He was just... I think he were sniffing around that girl that Becca hired at the inn. Not sure what her name was. Try not to spend too much time there. It always gets back to Beth's mum and I'm for it, whether I did anything or not.”

Hardy frowned. “You saying the Trader's doubles as a place where men can seek out... companionship? Paid companionship?”

“I've never done it,” Latimer insisted. “I don't—sometimes I want to forget, but that's not—I couldn't. Word would get back to Beth's mum. It always does. She's worse in some ways than old Mrs. Knight.”

“Right,” Hardy said, looking back toward the others, trying to find his daughter in amongst them. Her hair shouldn't be hard to miss, but the crowd here was larger than he'd expected, much larger than he liked.

“You do think Matt was murdered,” Latimer said. “That mean Wilmer Stoke was, too? Should we be worried someone's after all of us? What, like a German who don't know the war is over snuck back here and is killing us off one by one?”

Hardy tried not to laugh. “No. I don't think it was a German.”

“Do you think whoever killed them will kill more of us?”

“I don't know.”

* * *

“Do I want to know what you said to Mark?”

Hardy shook his head. Ellie sighed, not sure she wanted to push. She'd been stuck inside with the women, helping with the food and the dishes, trying to help Beth keep from yelling at her mum again all while fretting that Lucy would show up to make a spectacle of herself again. A part of Ellie could understand why a funeral would be difficult for her—it wasn't easy for Ellie—but she was also humiliated by her sister's actions and didn't want to see Lucy again.

She'd finally managed to get away when everyone started eating, just in time to see Mark leaving Hardy's side.

“Did he know anything that helped? He hasn't been around much or I would have asked him,” Ellie went on, and Hardy frowned at her. “Beth is my best friend, and Mark is sort of like a brother, so I'd feel comfortable asking him. I'm not sure I should ask Paul Coates anything, even if I really do want to know how he knew Matt. After Lucy's display... It just wouldn't be a good idea.”

Hardy shook his head. “I don't see you shying from anything that's a bad idea. You're out to catch a killer, aren't you? Can't pick a worse idea than that.”

“Well, not unless I was the killer.”

“Are you?”

She stared at him. “Are you kidding me? I push you to investigate this, I tell you it's murder when no one else believes that, and I have to fight to get you to listen to me, and you're asking me if I did it?”

He gave a small grunt. “Some killers like the attention. Maybe you'd be one of them, needing someone to appreciate your brilliance.”

“Unbelievable. So, what, I wear trousers and irritate you, therefore I'm a murderess?”

He frowned. “What is it with you and assuming that you wearing trousers has anything to do with it? You're not the only woman I've met that does it. It's a bloody fishing town. I'd think most of you would go about that way instead of the dresses. That's like asking to get yourself killed.”

Ellie almost smiled. “On a boat, maybe, but a generation back when we really started getting the tourists, Mrs. Knight and a few others put together a campaign to enforce 'decency' and 'respectability' because of the guests, and they made sure no women wanted to be on boats or in trousers. We'd be considered 'loose' if we were, and no man would want us. Lucy tells me all the time I'm lucky Joe came from Wales and was stupid enough to fancy me in spite of the way I dressed.”

Hardy snorted. “Your sister's the one that's stupid.”

“Um... thanks, I think.”

“Does the Trader's actually have prostitutes working there?”

Ellie choked. “What?”

“Do they have prostitutes there?” he repeated. “Don't look at me like that. I'm not asking because I want to hire one. I don't want my daughter mistaken for one. She's... she's too young for that, and I won't have her hurt because some idiot makes a wrong assumption just because I picked the wrong inn to stay at.”

Ellie shook her head. “I swear I haven't heard anything like that about Becca's place. I... I suppose I've heard some unkind rumors about Becca herself doing that to catch men that pass through, as she sort of has first pick, you know? Still, she's in better shape than most widows around here. She's got a business, not just a house. She can keep going after the pension is gone.”

Hardy looked out at the common. “And you, Miller? What will you do after the pension is gone?”

“I don't know,” she admitted. “I could try my hand at boating. I used to do it with my father, though it's been years. I haven't really wanted to think about it. What about you?”

He didn't think about his, either. “It's not important. Which one of them is... Nate? Nick? That other person you were so bothered about, where is he?”

“Come with me,” Ellie said. “I'll introduce you.”

“I don't need an introduction. I just want to know where he is.”

“You don't have to be so impossible,” she told him, tugging him along by the arm. She wanted to know what he was going to ask Nige, and she was a bit disappointed to have missed whatever he said to Mark.

“Nige,” Ellie said as she got closer. “There you are. I wanted to introduce you to Alec Hardy.”

Nige nodded stiffly. “Sir.”

Belatedly, she realized she hadn't paid any attention to Hardy's rank. She looked back at his uniform, frowning. Bloody hell. He was a lieutenant colonel. How had she missed that?

“War's over,” Hardy said. “Lose the sir.”

Nige almost smiled at him. “You here about Matt? You can't take that pension away. That's all his mum's got, and he didn't kill himself.”

“Why would you think he'd take away the pension?” Ellie asked, though she hadn't thought that any money would go to Matt's mother. He wasn't married, so anything his family had been getting died with him, didn't it?

“They don't give them for suicides—not that he done that. He didn't.”

Hardy shook his head. “Calm down. I'm not interested in anyone's pension. I will take what you knew about Matt Pryer. You served with him?”

Nige nodded. “Two years. We went in '16. I wasn't old enough before then.”

Hardy gave him a once over. “I'm betting you weren't old enough in '16, either.”

Nige glared at him. “You don't know nothing. I served. I did better than my duty. I was—”

“I don't care if you lied on your enlistment papers,” Hardy told him. “I am not here for that. I want to know what Pryer was like. Did he have a lot of friends? Enemies? Was he the sort of man you wanted with you in the trenches, or would you have gladly chucked him into no man's land yourself?”

Nige almost smiled at that. “Matt had a few mates. More than me. We weren't close. I used to worry he'd say something about the age. Or that his father once caught me poaching pheasants on his land. He never did, though. He were all right.”

“Never fought with anyone?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Was he interested in anyone?”

Nige fidgeted. “Not so he told me. There's not as many of us left as there were, and we're all told we got's to settle down and stuff, rebuild, but far as I know, he weren't planning on it.”

“So he wasn't interested in anyone at the Trader's?”

“Could have been. He didn't tell me about that. I wouldn't know.”

“Did you see Matt the day he died?”

Nige shook his head. “Not the day they found him. Saw him earlier the day before. He was headed out for one of his long walks. He'd go up and down the whole coast. I said he were daft for marching now that the war was done, but he said he couldn't stand being in one place after the trenches.”

Hardy nodded. “Did Matt still have his gun and bayonet?”

“Think so. Why?”

Hardy didn't answer. “Can you think of any reason why anyone would have wanted to hurt him?”

“No.”

* * *

“So... why are you in Broadchurch?”

Daisy shrugged. She didn't know, not exactly. She knew why they'd stayed, but she wasn't sure what her father's original reason for bringing them here was. He didn't tell her that sort of thing, and back when they first left, she'd been too upset to ask him. She still was worried they'd send her back to her aunt, and she didn't want that.

“Mum, don't go pestering her with questions,” Chloe said, and Daisy gave her a bit of a smile.

“I was just asking,” Mrs. Latimer said, sounding a bit defensive. “It's not really tourist season yet, so we're not used to the strangers.”

“Dad wouldn't have come when it was,” Daisy said, thinking of how her father had reacted to being in the city even for a few days. “He hates crowds.”

“I think we all feel like that, right, Chlo?”

Chloe nodded. “It's better when the beaches are almost empty.”

“I've been walking along and collecting shells,” Daisy said. “I've got a whole collection already. Dad told me I couldn't steal the whole ocean.”

“What about your mother?”

“Mum,” Chloe hissed, and Mrs. Latimer grimaced. “You don't have to tell her.”

Daisy shook her head. “It's not like it's some terrible secret. She didn't run off and leave my dad for the circus or anything. She just... It was the 'flu. I had it, she got it from me, but I got better. She didn't. Dad was still at the front.”

“Oh.”

Daisy reached for her glass in the uncomfortable silence. People always pitied her for being without her mother, and she hated that more than missing her mum. Not that her mother was perfect. She knew better than that.

“Daisy?”

She turned, smiling as she saw her father peering a bit nervously into the kitchen. “There you are. Lost track of you there for a bit.”

“I was just talking to Chloe and Mrs. Latimer,” Daisy said. “Are you ready to go back to the hotel?”

“You haven't eaten anything,” Mrs. Latimer protested. “You should have something before you go. You don't have to rush off. Please. We have more food than we need. My mum never seems to know when to stop.”

“She's right, Dad. You should eat.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You're not a nurse yet.”

That was progress, though, and she grinned in triumph, aware that he was warming to the idea of her studying to be a nurse. “I will be.”

“Aye, I've no doubt,” he said. “You go on. Eat.”

“Mr. Hardy?” Chloe began, and her father stopped, frowning. “I was just... Well, if Daisy wanted, she could stay with us. She was saying she had a bit of a collection of sea shells, but I know an even better place than the public beaches for them, so if you didn't mind... I could show her. We'd have to go early, though, because the tide comes in and—”

“Could I, Dad?”

He gave them all an assessing glance, and Daisy thought for sure he'd say no, but he ended up nodding ever so slowly. “Fine. One night. And you be careful with that tide.”

She grinned, going over kiss his cheek. “Love you.”

He hugged her against him. “Love you, too, darling.”

* * *

Hardy slipped away from the crowd at the Latimer house.

A part of him wanted to turn back and pull Daisy from the house, but he wasn't sure he believed Miller about the Trader's, and he'd rather confront Mrs. Fisher about that without Daisy. She was more likely to suggest that to him if his daughter was gone, so she might even do it without him soliciting it. He would rather catch her in it than fumble about as if he wanted that sort of thing.

Even if he was tempted by the idea of physical comfort, he didn't know that his lungs would allow him to have it. He would start coughing uncontrollably during something like that, just because he was good at humiliating himself.

He shook off the thought and walked along the path back toward the beach. He wanted to see this place at night, get a sense of what Matt Pryer had seen during his last hours, and his mind was still mulling over his conversations with Mark Latimer and Nige Carter. Hardy didn't think he'd heard anything that actually felt like answers, nothing that pointed to any one person and gave him someone to pressure into talking—the only other person to talk to was the vicar, and he'd rather let Miller do that on her own.

Hardy and God had parted company long before the trenches, and war wasn't the sort of thing that brought back a damaged faith. All it did was make him even less likely to believe. His mother had been pretty devout, but she'd been gone for so long Hardy barely remembered the tenets of her faith. He'd made a token effort when Tess was still alive because it was expected, but even she wasn't that devoted.

He shook his head, certain he was missing something, something obvious, and that feeling was still one of the most irritating ones he'd ever known.

He stopped by the edge of the cliff, looking down. He could see this as a place to end it. One step, even by accident, could make that a certainty, but that didn't mean Matt Pryer had seen it that way. He'd died, yes, but Hardy didn't believe he'd fallen or jumped.

The salty air hit his lungs hard, and he started coughing, doubling over with one of the worst spells he'd had in days, stumbling away from the edge. He saw a shadow behind him, and for a second he thought it was an illusion, a trick of the light and his inability to breathe, but the blade in its hand was all too real.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Hardy's time on the cliff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, had my work schedule not changed abruptly to something quite horrible, I had intended to write this as soon as I was done with my chapter for Not So Human Gits, but I was foiled in that respect, so I didn't get to it until now. And it was harder than I thought because working overnight always makes me sick. Ugh.
> 
> Still... this is progress, I think.

* * *

His side throbbed.

The pain woke him, making him open his eyes again. He couldn't move, but he swore he heard water. Waves crashing up against rocks. No. Not possible. He was far from the sea.

_“Hold on, Captain. Don't go quitting on us now.”_

_He didn't understand. He remembered the trench filling with Germans. He remembered being stabbed. Not just once. He'd tried to fight one of them, but there were so many, one after another. He'd been unable to stop them, barely remembered trying to warn the others. It was all over so fast._

_He didn't understand why he was still alive._

_“Christ, he's a mess. Not sure how he survived that.”_

He was bleeding. He knew that. He didn't know why he heard water or why he was still alive.

* * *

Ellie tucked the blankets in tight around Fred, hoping that he would stay asleep through the night this time. Tom was already out, having played long into the night with Danny, making her and Beth and even Mark laugh. She checked on him anyway, poking her head inside his door to see that he was still asleep.

Satisfied that Fred hadn't woken the whole house, just her, she went downstairs to fix herself some tea. She should be able to sleep, not having gotten much rest after that visit to the undertaker's and Lucy showing up when she did.

God, her sister's behavior was still mortifying. She didn't understand how Lucy could do that. She swore she hadn't seen her sister drinking or smelled it on her, but she'd definitely heard every horrible word at the church. So had almost everyone else. Hardy might have been spared some of it, standing in the back of the hall as he had been, but then he'd sat down with Daisy and probably caught some of it then, and there was no escaping it when Lucy marched right up to him.

Why didn't her sister care that a man was dead? Why was everything about finding a husband?

Ellie shook her head, filling up the kettle and lighting the burner. She put the kettle down and was about to get a cup when something banged against the back door. She almost jumped out of her skin, and she would have screamed when the door started to open, but she couldn't get air in her lungs.

That was a bit almost ironic when it was Hardy that had come blundering the door.

“The hell do you think you're doing?” she demanded, putting a hand on her hip as he leaned against the wall. “I don't care if you ended up drinking for the rest of the night—you were terrible at that party, and I don't blame your daughter for taking the first opportunity she got to get away from you—you can't come barging into my home. My boys are asleep upstairs.”

He didn't say excuse me, didn't take any sort of umbrage to the insults or accusations, didn't even call her Miller. He just stared at her before sliding down to the floor.

Her eyes went to the dark stain on the side of her uniform, and she swallowed, feeling sick. “Oh, god. You're bleeding, aren't you?”

Hardy didn't seem to know she was talking to him, but in his state, she wasn't sure how he'd found his way here. She'd swear there was more blood on his clothes than inside him. She went to his side, putting her hands on his face.

“Hardy? What the hell happened?”

He looked at her, but she didn't think he understood what he was seeing. Neither did she. He'd been stabbed. She could see that through the stained cloth, and she'd swear that it was in about the same spot as the wound that had killed Matt Pryer.

“We need to get you to a doctor.”

That got her a spark of something in his eyes, but not enough for him to answer her. She grimaced. She was being stupid. She had to get a better look at his wound. She could call a doctor, but he could bleed out before that happened. She had to stop that, and she'd call the doctor as soon as she was sure Hardy wasn't going to die on her floor.

She reached for his belt, unbuckling it. He watched her, but the grumbling and attempt to stop her did not come. She put the belt to the side, wondering if that might have helped stop the blade. The cut in the fabric didn't look as long as the one on Matt. She unbuttoned his uniform jacket, pushing it off his shoulders.

“Did you have a coat when you left the Latimers? I thought you did. Big one, went with the uniform, though you wear it without it, so it's not just a war one and—”

“Miller.”

“Oh, god, I actually missed your voice. You had me worried when you weren't saying anything. I thought for sure you were going to die on me, and I won't have you dying in my kitchen. It's hard enough to do anything in here as it is,” Ellie told him. She grimaced. “Sorry. I need to finish—let's get you out of that shirt, too. It's soaked.”

He frowned. “What...?”

“You're bleeding, in case you missed that,” she said, working on freeing him from the shirt. Thin as a sheet, almost threadbare, she wondered that he'd bother wearing it, even if he was going to a funeral. Surely he had other shirts he could have worn, even if this was the official one. And for someone with such damaged lungs, she didn't see a mark on him, not on that part of his chest, at least. There were other scars, deeper ones, on the lower half of him. One of them was even right by the cut that was still bleeding. She shook her head, not sure why she was letting herself get distracted whens he needed medical help.

She bit her lip. “I don't know how deep this is. If it's like Matt's, you could die.”

“Think... meant to...”

“What?” Ellie winced. “Of course. That's just... I'm being an idiot. They stabbed you, trying to kill you. I knew that as soon as I saw the blood. I need—I need a rag. I'll clean you up and—did you see him? The killer?”

Hardy shook his head, closing his eyes, and she forced herself to go get the rag instead of asking him more questions. She wanted to know everything about the attack, but she had to make sure he lived first. She grabbed a towel and used the hot water from the kettle to wet it. Taking it to back to him, she knelt down.

“This will hurt.”

He glared at her, too weak to do anything else.

“You never made it back to the hotel, did you?” she asked as she cleaned the wound, grimacing at the edges of it. This thing looked horrible. “What kind of a knife did this?”

“Shut... up.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Not likely. I need to keep myself focused and you awake. I'll call the doctor in a minute, but I don't want you passing out and dying on me before I can get to that. I think that the bleeding's stopped, but it's a bit hard to tell with this scarring. Were you actually stabbed there before?”

“Night raid,” he said. “Damn... it. Miller. Hurts.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I'll find something for the pain as soon as I've bandaged it.”

He gave her another weak glare before passing out.

* * *

“He's lucky,” the doctor said, examining the wound. “It's not as deep as it could have been, and I think he may have done more damage to himself by moving.”

“Not very deep?” Ellie asked. She'd thought the same thing herself, but she wasn't sure about it. She wasn't a doctor or even a nurse, and she'd done her best, same as she would with any small cut the boys would have gotten, but she'd been fortunate enough to avoid severe wounds. The worst one she'd seen her father had gotten from a fishing hook, but she hadn't been the one to treat him for it. Still, Matt had been killed being stabbed like that, and this had to be the work of his killer, right? Either the same man had gone after Hardy because of his uniform or because they knew he was looking into Matt's death. He hadn't been all that shy at the Latimer's, asking some pretty direct questions.

“No. See here?” Doctor Rowell asked, pointing to the edge of the wound. “This scar tissue would have made it a bit difficult to get through, and if he had any sort of layers in his clothes, that might also have slowed down the blade. Either way, it's shallow, and he's lucky. He'll need to watch for infection and rest as much as possible until it heals, but I expect he knows a bit about that already.”

Ellie tried not to look at the exposed part of Hardy's chest. “Probably.”

“I don't think he should be moved tonight,” Rowell went on. “A few days rest would be best, though I understand that might be difficult under the circumstances.”

Ellie snorted. “Well, he's too bloody tall for that chair, that's for sure.”

Rowell looked at her, and she forced a smile. She was too tired to watch her language, and a part of her was scared. Scared and guilty. She'd pushed Hardy to stay and look into Matt Pryer's death, and now he'd been hurt. He could have been killed. Because of Ellie, his daughter would be an orphan.

“He's staying at the Trader's with his daughter that wants to be a nurse,” Ellie said. “I think she'll do her best to keep him in bed once he's able to move there.”

“Sounds good. I'll be off. I'd like to get a few hours of sleep myself.”

“Thank you for coming,” Ellie said. “I'd done what I could, but I wanted to be sure he wouldn't die on me in the night.”

“He should live,” the doctor said, giving Hardy another glance. “Tough blighter, for all he doesn't look like much of one.”

“He was gassed in war. Is that going to affect his recovery?”

Rowell winced. “You didn't mention that before.”

“I didn't think about it. I was more worried about him bleeding to death on me.”

“The blood had stopped by the time I got here,” Rowell reminded her. He let out a breath, patting his belly. “If he gets an infection, it could be worse for him. I heard several of the boys that got gassed went down to pneumonia. Or the flu.”

Ellie nodded. “Well, as long as he's here, I'll watch for infection. Thank you again for coming.”

“Of course,” Rowell said, almost as though it was no trouble, but she did think he thought it was. She'd woken him in the middle of the night, and he hadn't been keen on coming, even after she explained there was a man possibly dying in her home.

She walked the doctor to the door, shutting it behind him. She locked up again, walking slowly back to the front room. She looked in at Hardy, shaking her head.

“What am I going to do with you, then?” she asked, but he didn't answer. She went to the closet down the hall and took out a blanket, carrying it back to the sofa. She laid it over him and tucked him in just like she had Fred.

“Stop... fussing.”

She stilled, looking down at him. “How long have you been awake?”

“Doesn't... matter. Need... get back...”

“You are not going anywhere,” she said, shaking her head. “You were stabbed. Did you somehow forget that?”

“No.” He tried to sit up. “Not... staying.”

“I am not letting you wander off to die.”

“Don't care. Not... me. Daisy. Wouldn't want...” He swore and closed his eyes, stopping his attempt to move.

“You don't know that Daisy is safe just because he attacked you and not her. We don't know why Matt died. I assume that his killer went after you, but we don't know that. We don't even know for sure it was the same person. You could have angered someone asking questions. I hope not, because that would make it Nige or Mark. Beth's my best friend. If her husband is a killer—”

“He is.”

“What? You said you didn't see who attacked you.”

“I didn't,” Hardy said. He swallowed. “Just... he fought. He... killed.”

“That's different,” Ellie said. “That was war. He was fighting for his country and his life. So were you. It's not the same thing.”

He didn't answer, and she knew he didn't believe her.

* * *

Hardy opened his eyes with a frown. Miller was fussing again, adjusting his blanket in place. He must have slept through her checking the bandage, because he doubted she was tucking him back in for fun. He grimaced as the pain made itself known again.

She looked down at him. “Awake again, I see.”

He frowned. “Room is... different.”

“I suppose you were mostly out of it when I decided to give you the bed. Honestly, your feet stuck out so far over this chair, and even for a skinny one like you, it wasn't wide enough. You'd have rolled right off it and injured yourself again.”

“Like you,” he said, certain she was only bothering him now because she'd done just that—rolled off the chair onto the floor.

She sighed. “You know, I don't have to help you.”

“I tried to leave.”

“Because you're an idiot,” she said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You're wounded. Someone tried to kill you. You shouldn't be alone.”

“You want those boys to be orphans?”

“You want your daughter to be one?” she countered. “You need to heal. You said you didn't see the man who did this. I suppose it might not have been a man—the doctor did say the wound wasn't deep enough on you, but then—did you hear anything?”

“Water.”

“They didn't say anything?”

Hardy shook his head. Not a word. He would never have seen his attacker if he hadn't coughed when he did, and even then it was just a shadow. Probably a man, but he couldn't be certain. He hadn't gotten a good look through that damned fit, even if it had saved his life. If he'd been stabbed where he was standing, that close to the cliff's edge, he'd have fallen off and died for sure.

He lived, though for how long still remained a matter of debate.

“Not a word?”

“No. Maybe. I... I think... Miller...”

“What?”

Hardy reached up to touch his head. “Think we need to go back to the cliff.”

“Are you insane?”

He would have laughed if he had the energy for it. He was, having parted with sanity somewhere early in the war, but that wasn't the point. “He left... me.”

She stared at him. “He... he stabbed you... and left you for dead? Up on the cliff... he just left you there to die.”

“Aye.”

“Bloody hell.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie's efforts to get Hardy to rest after being stabbed don't go very well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part reminds me a bit of the show. And yet, it doesn't, like at all. It's just funny how that goes.
> 
> And... I'm not sure I make sense. I think it does, but work fried my brain, so I could be wrong about that.

* * *

“And... he did that to Matt, is that what you think?” Ellie asked, frowning. “Stabbed him, let him die up there, and moved his body? Took it all the way to the water and dropped it in? Why would he do that?”

Hardy looked at her like she was an idiot, and she winced. She supposed that must seem like a stupid question, but she wasn't sure why someone would want to kill a person like that.

“Isn't it more complicated than it should be? Why not just leave the body up on the cliff if that's how he's doing it? It's not like the body was lost to the sea. I found Matt. I can't remember who found Wilmer. Lucy would know, she was all about that for a bit, but I was—well, I didn't want to hear it. I don't like gossip, and when it's about suicide—”

“Two reasons. Think, Miller.”

She sighed. “It's too early. I was up late making sure you didn't die. I can't bloody think right now.”

He snorted. “Then help me up and stop talking.”

She glared at him. “I am not going to help you kill yourself. You don't need to do their job for them—the whole point of this was to stop them from killing again. You don't get to die. So, no, you're not going anywhere. You're fortunate he didn't come back in time to move you. You would have drowned if he put you in the water. If he hadn't delayed, you would definitely have been dead, so you should be glad he wanted to wait until it was darker—oh.”

“That's better.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “It was dark enough for him to attack you and you not see his face. It wasn't _that_ obvious that he was waiting for it to be darker to take your body to the water.”

“Boat would be noticed.”

She grimaced. That was true. Anyone foolish enough to take a boat out in the middle of the night would be noticed. They all knew better, with the dangers of rocks in and out of the water, plus only a few crafts could withstand the water itself overnight. Few fishermen went out for multiple days at a time, not thinking it worth the risk.

“Wait. You think the other reason he kills on the cliff and moves the body is to... fake the suicide? Why not just push them off the side?”

“Ritual?”

“You mean it worked the first time by accident, and then he kept doing it?”

“Possibly,” Hardy said, making another foolish attempt to sit up. He grimaced, but he forced himself up against the headboard anyway. She eyed the bandage, sure she was going to see red seeping through again because he was an idiot.

“Or does he feel like they have to die that way?”

“I don't know. Miller, I told you—he didn't say anything.” Hardy hissed the last through his teeth, putting his hand on his side.

“So he was careful enough not to say a single word when he stabbed you and left you to die, but he didn't check to be sure you were dead?”

“I may have... lost consciousness... for a bit.”

She sighed. “This is so frustrating. You almost died and we still don't know anything more than we did before. I mean... him leaving the bodies on the cliff is... weird, but it doesn't point to anyone in particular. Unless... you think there's two of them? One that stabs them and the other that puts them in the water?”

“Complicated.”

“I know, but... if it was a woman doing the stabbing, she might not be able to lift the body on her own,” Ellie said, horrified by her own words. That made the number of people who could have killed Matt Pryer larger and smaller at the same time. “That's insane, isn't it? Who would do that? Husband covering for a wife? But... why?”

Hardy shook his head. He had the same doubts she did. “Some men... do anything, but... why would she? Not... for money.”

“Revenge?”

“For what?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don't know. It doesn't make sense. I keep thinking it has to do with the war because both Wilmer Stoke and Matt fought, and you were attacked while you were in your uniform.”

“Don't assume. Assume too much... you miss things.”

“Which is why you want to go back to the cliff.”

Hardy nodded. “Be difficult... prove... others died there...”

“Especially after all that rain,” Ellie agreed. “Still, we might find something where you were attacked, even if we can't find where Matt or Stoke were.”

“Exactly.”

“Only you're not going anywhere. I already told you—you're not dying. You're going to stay in that bed and rest.”

“Miller—”

“I mean it. Do not even think about moving. I'm going to go make breakfast. The boys will be awake soon, but they shouldn't bother you. You stay where you are.”

* * *

Ellie put the kettle on the stove, heating up some water. She couldn't help remembering how her last attempt at this had gone so wrong, with Hardy showing up bleeding. She'd used all that hot water cleaning him and her kitchen up, not enjoying even one cup of tea in the process. She grimaced. This morning she could almost use Lucy in the kitchen, but she definitely did not want her sister here with Hardy in the house half naked.

She almost smacked herself for that thought. He was just missing his shirt, which was still stained with blood. It wasn't like he was in her bed for any other reason—and he wouldn't be. She wasn't that sort of woman, and Hardy was so irritating she didn't know how he'd had a wife before. Not that he had to have a wife to have his daughter.

She groaned, leaning over the sink. What was she thinking? Why was she thinking it? She should be worrying about how they were going to find the killer with Hardy injured, not stupid things like that.

“Mum?”

“Oh, Tom,” she said, turning back to face him. “I'm glad you're up before Fred. I need to explain a few things to you before—”

Above their heads, something large hit the floor, and she swore, knowing exactly what—who—it was. Tom was off running before she could say anything, and she followed after him up the stairs, grumbling under her breath about stubborn Scottish idiots.

Hardy was on the floor, collapsed halfway out of her bedroom. Bloody hell. This couldn't be much worse than it already was.

“What's going on?”

“Tom, you remember Mr. Hardy, don't you? He got hurt last night, and he found his way here in the dark. I think he was lost,” Ellie said, going over to his side. “I put him in my bed because he was too big for the chair downstairs, but the stupid git won't listen to me or the doctor and stay put.”

“Oh, go away, Miller.”

“Not until we get you back in bed. I told you—you don't get to die in my house. Come on, up you go. You need to rest.”

“No, I need to leave.”

“You already fell once. You are not going anywhere,” she insisted. “Here, Tom, help me with him. He's heavier than he looks.”

“What happened?” Tom asked as he propped up Hardy's other side. Between the two of them, they managed to help Hardy back toward the bed. “Did you get lost and trip over a rock?”

“Do I seem that clumsy to you?”

“You were on the floor.”

Hardy glared at him. “Very logical, little Miller.”

“Don't go insulting him just because you were stupid enough to get out of bed after getting stabbed. This time just stay put. I'm making tea, and so help me, if you interrupt that again, I—you don't get any. Don't move,” she said. She turned to Tom. “Get your brother, will you? I'm going to go finish breakfast. And that one is going to stay where he is.”

Tom stared at her. “What?”

“I said, go get your brother. What's wrong with you?”

“Might have something... to do with you saying I was stabbed,” Hardy muttered dryly, and Ellie stopped to think about it before cursing in her head. She had said that.

“Right. Well, next time find someone else to bother in the middle of the night,” she grumbled. “You've been more trouble than you're worth.”

“Oh, flattering, Miller,” he said, taking in a deep breath before delivering the rest. “I'd have thought you'd say I wasn't worth anything at all.”

* * *

Hardy was not surprised when the boy found his way back into the bedroom just as soon as his mother had departed. He would have been more surprised if the child hadn't returned. Curiosity was one thing, fear another, and either one of them could have brought the boy back.

“Mum said... you were stabbed?”

“You thought she was joking?” Hardy asked. He shifted on the bed, trying to decide if he was ready to attempt leaving a second time as soon as the boy was gone. If he hadn't gotten light-headed at the wrong moment, he'd already be gone.

“No, but... why would someone stab you?”

“Dozens of reasons.”

“You're...”

“I imagine you'd like to call me any number of names,” Hardy said, pleased to get the entire thing out without having to stop because of the pain or his lungs. “I've heard them all.”

“Was... was it because of my dad?”

Oh, bloody hell. He'd forgotten how small the world could be for a child. He swallowed, not sure how to say this, not with this subject. On the one hand, he was sure the boy would be glad to know that his father's actions remained a secret, known only to the two of them, but that would only increase the boy's guilt and shame, since it was hidden. Joe Miller had power because he'd convinced his son not to tell, and that private, too, had been trapped by the silence. He'd killed rather than have anyone know what Joe had done.

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Have you told anyone what he did?”

“It was just a hug,” the boy said, instantly defensive. “Nothing wrong with a hug. I hugged you, didn't I? It's fine.”

Hardy shook his head. “What you did was different, and I think you know that.”

The boy frowned. “You didn't tell anyone?”

“No. Wasn't my place, though you might consider speaking to your mother.”

“No! I'm not doing it. He was my father, and what he did—you don't know anything. I wish they had killed you when they stabbed you,” he said, running out of the room.

Hardy grimaced. He didn't want to think it, but the boy's behavior suggested that something other than a hug had happened. He ran a hand over his face. He had to get out of here, not further into this mess that seemed to center on the Miller home.

He knew that the killer wasn't Joe, that was one thing he could be sure of, but that was about the only thing he did know.

He pushed himself out of the bed, using the dresser along the wall as support, leaning against the wall itself when he was past it. His side throbbed, and a part of him wanted to sit back down, but this was only a scratch compared to wounds he'd gotten in the war. He'd fought and marched with worse. He'd be fine.

He stuck close to the wall down the stairs, making it all the way to the bottom before he had to sit.

“You are the most stubborn bastard I've ever met.”

He snorted. “Mirror, Miller.”

“Oh, don't start,” she snapped. “You already fell once. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Didn't care for the company.”

“You wanker.”

He pulled himself back onto his feet. “I'm going now.”

“You can't be serious. You're in no state to go anywhere. Look at yourself.”

“I'll take my shirt back.”

“No.”

“Miller, you don't want me here. I don't want to be here. I'm leaving,” he insisted. He stopped to breathe, needing a moment against the pain. “Now you can either give me the shirt, or I can leave without it in front of your neighbors.”

“You are such a bastard. Look, your shirt and your uniform jacket are both torn and bloody, so you're not wearing them. Give me a few minutes. I might be able to find something of Joe's—”

“No.”

“Do you have to be so—”

“Aye.”

* * *

“I'm walking you back to the Trader's.”

“No.”

“Oh, don't be an idiot. You know you shouldn't be out of bed, you know you've fallen at least once, and you almost did it again when you were being so stubborn about your shirt,” Miller said. She pulled on her coat. “Tom, keep an eye on your brother for me. I'm going to make sure Hardy doesn't kill himself on his way to the hotel.”

“I'm fine.”

“You are not fine,” she said. She pointed to his uniform. “That is not fine. Not even remotely fine.”

“This is nothing.”

“The doctors said you were lucky,” she insisted as she put on her coat. “If you hadn't been stabbed there before, you'd probably be dead now.”

Hardy considered telling her just how little doctors knew, especially when it came to him, but he didn't bother. “You're making my point for me. I've lived through worse.”

She looked him over, and he saw it in her face, the inability to deny the truth of what he'd said. At least those scars were good for something.

“Aye,” he said. “So now you can stop fussing and leave me be. I've had to go further in worse shape than this.”

“Yes, but you weren't alone then, either,” she said, wrapping her arm in his and pulling the front door open. “You had other men marching with you, and don't deny it. If you'd fallen, someone would have been there to pick you up.”

“You can't.”

“Then I'll get someone who can,” she said. “It's either this or you go back up there to bed.”

“I'm not staying.”

She nodded. “Well, then, let's be off. I'd say we should go get your daughter, but you'd only scare her like that, so we'll go get you a change of clothes before—oh. No. Not now.”

“What?”

“Auntie Ellie,” a boy said, running up to them. He was older, probably just shy of heading off to the war—few more months and Hardy figured he would have been there—it was interesting that he hadn't lied and tried to go anyway. Some of them did. Somehow that seemed fitting for a person calling Miller Aunt.

“Olly, if it's about your mother, there's nothing I can do. I know she spent her pension, but I've only got enough for the boys, and I have to make that last 'til the end of the month, too,” she said. “I'm sorry. I know it's not good, but I'm sure you can find something to do around town to get you by. Ask Mrs. Roper. Beth's mum will take care of you, I'm sure.”

“Um... thanks for the tip, but I was actually going to ask you if you knew the new bloke that was military police.”

Hardy gave Miller a look. She winced.

“Which, obviously, you do,” the young man said, forcing a smile like he hadn't just said something incredibly stupid. “I went by the Trader's to see if you were there. Only you weren't in your room, so I asked, and people said they'd seen you with my aunt, so I came to ask her, but you're here, so I can just ask you. I was—are you bleeding?”

“What do you want?” Hardy asked, irritated by more than the throbbing in his side.

“Oh. Um. I... I wanted to know if you were here about Matt.”

“What?” Miller asked. “Why are you asking about him? You didn't know him.”

“Well, no, not well. We just sort of... passed each other. Only... I think he was murdered.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olly tries to give them information. Hardy finds it less than helpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was one of those days where writing was... difficult. I don't feel like the scenes were bad or the plot is astray (that's rare for me) but for some reason, it just didn't want to come. Though... I may have messed up with Daisy's scene. Part of it was meant to be a surprise.

* * *

“What?” Ellie asked, frowning in concern. She might not be as close to Oliver as she was her own children, but the idea of her nephew involved in this murder had her worried. She didn't want anything to happen to Olly, not when her sister needed him and he was more of an adult than her sister was. “How can you—you didn't know him—why would you think he was murdered?”

Hardy gave her a look, but with him looking like he was about to collapse again, she found it was easy to ignore. She saw Olly start to fidget, and she shook her head, annoyed. Whatever it was he knew, he didn't intend to tell her what it was.

“Well, Oliver?”

“Um, Ellie—”

“No, you're going to say what it is you came to say, and we're both going to hear it,” she said. Then she gave Hardy another look. “Inside. He needs to sit.”

“Miller—”

“Oh, God, you really _are_ bleeding. When you kept standing there, I thought maybe you weren't, but you are,” Olly said, going to Hardy's side. He backed away from him, bumping Ellie and almost knocking her over in the process. “Look, I'm only trying to help.”

“Don't touch me,” Hardy said. He turned back and walked up to the house, letting himself in the door. Ellie sighed, following him in with Olly trailing behind her. She didn't know what Olly could tell them, but at this point, everything helped. They knew so little, and Hardy could have died last night. They needed everything they could get.

Hardy took the chair he'd had when he first darkened her doorstep, showing up to say that Joe had died in some kind of friendly fire accident. He didn't look much better this time, even if he wasn't coughing like before. God, if he got an infection now, it probably would kill him.

She sat down next to him, and he frowned at her, but she doubted that he wanted Olly sitting next to him. She gestured for Olly to sit. “Tell us what you know.”

“Well...”

“You're the one that sought me out,” Hardy reminded him, annoyed. “Either speak up or get out. I don't need this.”

Olly nodded. “I just... now that I'm here, I'm feeling a little foolish.”

“You're being an idiot because you don't want me hearing what you have to say,” Ellie said. “I'm not sure you could embarrass yourself more than your mother did yesterday, so just spit it out already.”

Olly frowned. “What did she do?”

“That's not important,” Ellie said. She didn't want to relive that or make Hardy do it, since he'd been the unfortunate target of Lucy's advances. “What is important is what you know about Matt Pryer's death.”

“But Auntie Ellie,” Olly said, frowning at her. “What can that matter to you?”

She stared at him. “Are you kidding me? You think a man's been murdered, and I'm not supposed to care? What, 'cause I'm a woman?”

“I—”

“Tell us what you know,” Hardy ordered. “Not that I think you have anything useful to say, but I'm tired of you wasting my time.”

“We're both tired. He's hurting. Hurry up and tell us.”

Olly winced. “Um... well, it has to do with this girl.”

Ellie wanted to smack herself in the head. “Of course it does. What girl?”

“Um...”

* * *

“Thanks for showing me the other beach,” Daisy said, turning to look over at Chloe. She hadn't expected to be welcomed into this place, not when she hadn't been that welcome anywhere else. Her father's profession and accent were the wrong things to have in most of the society her mother knew, and some of the other children had been horrible to her when she was younger and sounded a lot more like her father. Her mother was all about telling her to be quiet and proper like a lady, and her father had been much louder at times. He'd never scared her with all his yelling, but she knew if someone did something she didn't like, they'd hear it from him. That made being quiet fine by her, though what she'd really treasured were the nights he'd be the one to put her to bed and would always give in when she asked for another story. He'd read so many of them in his rumbling voice, and she found it made her feel safe enough to sleep the night through.

That was never quite true with her mother, and when he was off at the front, Daisy barely slept at all. Her world had changed overnight, soon as he left, and nothing had righted it since.

“Not a problem,” Chloe said. “I like to have a reason to go out to the beach, and it's better if I'm not alone. Otherwise my gran starts to think I'm horribly lonely and helpless, just like she still thinks my mum is helpless after all these years, and I hate that.”

Daisy looked at her, frowning.

“Oh, all right. I also thought if I came down here with you, then no one would bother me.”

“Would this someone be a boy?” Daisy asked, and Chloe flushed. “So you don't like him, then?”

Chloe winced. “Half the problem is that I do. It's just... everyone kind of knows my mum and dad... they ended up together in a hurry because of me. Sometimes I think she hates it, my mum, and I don't want to be like that. I like him, but I don't want to marry anyone yet, and I don't want kids right now, either.”

“I'm going to be a nurse,” Daisy said, knowing she kept on saying it, but she wasn't letting go of that dream. She remembered her mother at her side before she got sick, and she knew, as much as her father would never admit it, that he needed a nurse as well. He hadn't gotten over what the war did to him, and she thought it was worse now, not better. “If I get married, it'll be long after that.”

Chloe nodded. “Makes sense. Are you thinking you want to work in a hospital?”

“No, not at first. I could, but I think I'd do private care first,” Daisy said. She picked up a rock and threw it into the water, not wanting to talk about her father's health or what might be happening with him. She should get back to the inn now.

“Nice.”

“Oh, buttons.”

“What?”

“I forgot to get buttons when I got the fabric,” Daisy said, putting a hand to her head. “I need to go back to the store. Only I don't have any money now since I'm not with him. I didn't even want to ask him for it, since he'll be all mad.”

“About buttons?” Chloe asked with a frown. “What is so wrong with buttons?”

Daisy sighed. “It's not the buttons. It's... it's because I'm not supposed to know that he lost almost everything when my mother died.”

Chloe continued to frown. “What?”

Daisy looked at her hands. “My aunt didn't think he was coming back from the war. When my mother died, my aunt moved me in with her, sold the house, and got rid of his stuff, even his clothes.”

“She could do all that?”

Daisy nodded. “My grandfather was the one with the title and the power. My father won't even talk about what it was like in Scotland, but my grandfather assumed it meant he came from nothing and nowhere. So he made sure my mother's money was in a trust my father couldn't touch. When she got sick, the trust reverted to her nearest relative—my aunt because by then my grandfather was gone and I wasn't old enough. I don't know all the rest of the details, but I know that she thought she should keep me even after he was back because she had the money.”

Chloe grimaced. “That's awful.”

Daisy agreed, well aware that her aunt would be trying to marry her off instead of letting her be a nurse. That wasn't the only reason she wanted to be with her father, but she definitely wasn't about to let her aunt do that to her.

“We could see if my mother has any spare buttons, if you like.”

Daisy grimaced. “They have to match, though.”

“Well, let's check my house and then see about going to the store if we need to.”

“You don't have to do this.”

Chloe smiled. “I want to. Come on.”

* * *

“Let me see if I understand this,” Hardy began, rubbing his head which was now aching in tandem with his side. “You believe that Matt Pryer was killed over a girl, and you don't even know her name?”

Miller's nephew nodded. “Well... yes.”

“Oliver,” Miller began, and it was a good thing she had, because Hardy was one good breath away from laying into the idiot, “you have to do better than that.”

“A lot better,” Hardy said, adjusting his position so that his side wouldn't hurt as much. The pain eased for only a minute, and then it started to throb again. He bit back a curse. “If you know this girl was a reason for someone to commit murder, why don't you know her name?”

Oliver grimaced. “Um, that's... Well, it was this rumor I heard.”

“A rumor,” Hardy repeated, trying to keep his temper under control. He was in no shape to give the boy a proper lashing, but he wanted to, was set to rage against this stupidity. “I thought I told you not to waste my time. You are, and when people waste my time—”

“I swear, that wasn't my intention. I just... I heard there was a stranger in town who was police. Military police, but since everyone else assumed that Matt died because he committed suicide, so why would they want to hear what I had to say?”

Hardy looked at him. “Do I look like I want to hear what you have to say?”

“Uh... no, actually.”

“Hardy,” Miller said, and he gave her a look. “Olly, what _do_ you know about this girl? Why would you think that someone would kill Matt over her and not that he'd end his own life for her?”

“It was when they were over in France.”

Hardy frowned. “You think that some woman in France is the reason that Pryer is dead?”

“Well, from what I heard, he and one of the men in his unit were both interested in her,” Oliver said, and Hardy decided he'd had enough. These stories were everywhere, and most of them weren't true. He started to rise, and the boy frowned at him. “Where are you going?”

“Do you know how many times I've heard this sort of nonsense? You're not doing anything but embarrassing yourself,” Hardy told him. He had been ready to leave before this one showed up, and now he was finally done.

“I haven't finished telling you what I know.”

“Which is nothing,” Hardy said. He kept close enough to the wall to make it to the door, and he opened it, about to step outside when he almost fell.

Miller was next to him in an instant, and he tried to shove her away. “Do you have to be a complete idiot? Maybe you've heard dozens of those stories, but you don't know that he's wrong about it being a part of the reason Matt's dead. You barely gave Olly a chance to talk. I know that we're both tired and impatient, and he does seem to be taking forever to get to the point—”

“Your nephew's rumor doesn't fit with what Nige Carter told us yesterday,” Hardy reminded her. “You want him to have information that helps so we can end this faster, but it doesn't change anything. It's not useful.”

“You don't know that. You didn't even listen to all of it. What if we ignore this and it _is_ the answer we need?”

“The only thing I need right now is a drink,” Hardy told her, and she glared at him. He hurt, and he was not going to stay here while Miller's nephew wittered on about nothing. He could at least get a new shirt, and he'd wanted to go up to the cliff again and look around before it rained again or the killer had a chance to go back.

He might remember more if he went back, and that seemed more promising a suggestion than hearing out an idiot.

“You know that doesn't help, either.”

“I recall someone promised me something for the pain.”

“You do? I mean, I did, didn't I? Bollocks. I never—Well, if you come back inside—”

“No, Miller. I am done. You listen to your nephew if you want, but I am going back to the Trader's, changing my bloody shirt, and then I'm going to find my daughter.”

“I think you'll pass out before you get half of that done,” Miller told him. “You are not walking back to the Trader's on your own. I won't have you dying before you get there. I said I was walking you there, and I am. Don't bother arguing. Olly can watch the boys.”

“Miller—”

“Don't say you don't need me. You do. I should be whacking you over the head and getting you back in bed, not helping you get back to the inn. So either you accept my help, or I can get the pan. You want to try it that way?”

“No.”

* * *

The way Hardy hunched over his injured side made it so most people didn't see the blood, which was a relief to Ellie. She didn't want to explain that or be slowed down by her neighbors asking questions. They would be concerned, and they weren't wrong to be, since someone had tried to kill him, but that didn't mean that she thought that everyone should know. The town would panic, they'd want to blame someone, and they still didn't know who to blame. Mark or Nige might end up under suspicion because Hardy talked to him, and Ellie couldn't let them hurt Mark for something he didn't do. He might be distant now, but she'd figured that was the war, and she thought of anyone Beth and Mark could work through that.

She wished she knew why this was happening. It almost seemed too soon for Hardy's investigation to be common knowledge, which did point to Nige or Mark or someone else who'd been at the Latimer house. All of them were friends, and she didn't want to think about one of them being guilty.

Her mind went back to the idea of it being a woman, and she winced as her thoughts turned to Beth and Mark. That was impossible, Beth doing it. Ellie knew she'd been frustrated with Mark, but why would she kill other soldiers in his place?

That didn't make sense. It couldn't be Beth.

“Hardy,” Ellie said, pulling him to a stop just before the inn. “What happens when the killer realizes you lived?”

“That's a bloody stupid question,” Hardy said, starting to walk again.

“He'll try again. He'll probably make sure of it this time,” Ellie said as she hurried after him. “You can't ignore that.”

“Didn't say I was.”

“So, what, you figure on using yourself as bait? Creating a trap? You do know all you'll accomplish is getting yourself killed, don't you? You might even get your daughter hurt in the process.”

He turned and glared at her. “You leave my daughter out of this.”

“Do you actually think the killer will?”

He swore. “What do you want from me, Miller? I can't stop him from coming. That will happen. If I stayed at your house, your family would be at risk.”

She stared at him. “You left my house so... so the boys would be safe?”

“You act like I'm an irresponsible idiot. 'Course I knew anywhere I was was unsafe. Not that you listen when I say I'm leaving,” he snapped, walking away from her.

A part of her was relieved, knowing her boys would be fine, but at the same time, she couldn't leave it like that. “What about Daisy? She'd still be at risk, and you are not in any state to fight off a killer now.”

He snorted. “Apparently, I've done it before. Stop fussing. Go home. I'll be fine. Daisy'll be fine. She's with that other girl now anyway. Leave it alone.”

Ellie folded her arms over her chest. “She's with Chloe Latimer, right?”

“So?” 

She shook her head. He could not pull that one on her. “Are you honestly going to tell me you don't suspect Mark at all? Or Nige? Either one of them could be at their house right now, and I don't get the feeling you trust anyone.”

“I don't.” He glared at her. “Damn you, Miller.”

She almost apologized, but she'd never forgive herself if anything happened to his daughter, so she didn't say it. “You need to rest so you can think clearly about this.”

“No, what I need is a better trap.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy remains stubborn, and progress is slow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have pieces I know I want to do, and I actually know who did it (which is better than not knowing the grand evil scheme, as I too often don't in my sci fi stuff) but it's hard to get it all there, and this chapter didn't seem to go very far, but it does set up a few things, so I hope that gets it a bit forgiven.

* * *

“People will talk, Miller.”

“At this point, there's no stopping that,” Ellie said, pushing him inside his room. She didn't want to think about what would be said about them, but between his night at her house and walking him into town, it was already as much as over. She knew this town. She knew how it worked. She knew what people would think of her spending so much time with him. She doubted that it would make any difference if they knew she was only doing this because she wanted to find a killer.

In the first place, few would believe that.

In the second, they'd tell her she had no business looking for a murderer.

In the third... they'd tell her she could do worse than Hardy. He was alive, unlike Joe, and she had the boys to think about.

She was not thinking about that right now. Hardy had almost died, and he was still weak. She didn't want him passing out in this room with no one to find him, and if the killer did try again, he shouldn't be alone. He needed a better trap, yes, but he needed a hell of a lot more than that.

“Just go change. I'll be here if you fall over.”

He grunted, and she leaned against the wall, keeping her eyes on the door. She'd seen a lot already—enough to where Lucy would have had something to say if she'd been there—but she didn't need to see more, and she didn't want to.

“You still want to go back to the cliff?”

“I'm not going back to your nephew, if that's what you're asking,” he said. She heard the bed shift and willed herself not to look at him. He didn't sound like was about to pass out, though she wanted to hope he would, that he'd stay in one place and rest for a bit.

“No, it wasn't. I know you don't think much of Oliver. I'll talk to him myself later. I was just thinking maybe I should have grabbed the camera again.”

“You can go get it.”

“You just want to be rid of me.”

“Aye.”

“It's not happening,” she told him, tempted to look over at him. “I told you—and I shouldn't have to say it as many times as I have—that I'm not letting you die. You're stuck with me until I'm sure you won't fall over or get infected or anything of the sort.”

“I swear, I should have just died in the war. Why am I saddled with you?”

She almost smiled at that. “You were the one that came to my house. You've never said why. And I did ask. More than once. If it was just a friendly fire accident, why come all the way here? Why would that be penance?”

“Go home, Miller.”

“Are you planning on staying in that bed?” she asked, turning around to face him before she could stop herself. His shirt was off again, and she could see more marks on his back that she hadn't seen last night. She swallowed. Was that all from the war? “Do you need help with that?”

“No,” he snapped, yanking his shirt up and putting it on to spite her. “Bloody hell. Were you watching the entire time?”

“You think I want to see your scrawny body while you bleed to death? I've already done that. Well, god, no, I haven't. That's not what I meant. I turned to ask you a question. If you were staying here, that would be one thing, but since I know you're going to force yourself to leave as soon as you change, I'm not going to leave.”

He fumbled with the buttons on the shirt. “I'm not dead. Leave. Go. Now.”

“Again, no.”

* * *

“Quit fussing. I haven't fallen. I changed without incident. I haven't even had a damned coughing fit,” Hardy grumbled, pulling Miller's hand off his arm. She ignored him, again, keeping her arm around his. She insisted on doing this in case he fell, which irritated him to no end. He'd proven that he wasn't going to, and yet she would not stop. He hated this. Not that he'd had anyone to fuss over him, not even Daisy was this bad, in years.

“All the same, you know you shouldn't be doing this,” she insisted. “Not that I want Matt's killer running around free, but I don't see how you killing yourself will help with that.”

“I'm getting my daughter,” Hardy told her. He was not going to leave Daisy with strangers, not when Miller had pointed out how little he knew of the Latimers and how easily the killer could get to his little girl if it was Mark Latimer or Nige Carter, and he hadn't actually spoken to the vicar yet.

“And then what? Do you believe he won't come for you at the Trader's?”

Hardy grimaced. “I don't know when or where he might come for me. I imagine it wouldn't be in a public place or anywhere there are others around. There is a risk to anyone with me, but given what we know so far, the way he came after me, it seems that he wants his victims isolated.”

She looked at him. “Right. That makes sense.”

“Stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to fall over just because I made a long speech. I can breathe,” he muttered, though as soon as he said it, he felt like he couldn't. His lungs burned, and he had to slow his pace.

“So, we surround you with people, make him reluctant to approach, and then once you're healed up enough to where you'd survive facing him again, then you can have your trap,” she said. He gave her a look, and she grinned back at him.

He grunted. He didn't know how he was going to be rid of her, but he'd have to worry about that later. For now, he had to accept that she wasn't leaving his side.

She let go of him, though, just long enough to step forward and knock on the door.

“Hello, Beth,” Ellie greeted the other woman with a smile. “I don't suppose you still have an extra wandering around here, do you?”

“I think she's up in Chloe's room with her. They were looking at buttons, of all things.”

“Buttons?”

The other woman gave her a helpless look. “I've no idea. It's some kind of secret between the two of them, and I swear, I've never seen Chloe take to anyone this fast. I suppose it's rather a shame she won't be staying.”

Miller looked back at him. He shook his head. He hadn't meant to stay past confirming what he'd suspected of Joe Miller, and his mistake in staying another day for Daisy to enjoy the beach had already become a disaster.

“I'd like to see my daughter.”

“Come in,” Mrs. Latimer said. “Have a seat in here. I'll bring you some tea.”

“Don't need tea. Just my daughter.”

“Don't be rude,” Miller said, pushing him toward the parlor. “Go in, sit down, and have some tea like a nice, proper guest, and Beth will send your daughter along soon enough. And you might want to act a little less grumpy if you don't want to scare the poor thing.”

He snorted. “You think my daughter doesn't know who and what I am? She's under no illusions about me, Miller. She also knows I'm all she's got left, that's all.”

She shook her head again, leaving the room with the Latimer woman. He settled back on the chair and tried to ease the pain. He had to be sure Daisy was safe, and then he'd think about resting.

* * *

“Ellie,” Beth began, and she knew this conversation was going to be one she didn't want to have, now or ever. “What are you doing here with Mr. Hardy? And don't tell me he couldn't remember the way to the house I know that's not true.”

Ellie grimaced. That had been her first thought for a lie, and she knew Beth deserved better than a lie, but she hadn't wanted to scare anyone—or maybe it was just the lecture about what she was doing that she wanted to avoid. “Would you believe I ran into him on the street?”

“No,” Beth said, heating up the water. “I don't, and you know I wouldn't. I thought we were better friends than that. With all Mark's holding back, I don't want that from you. If you're not going to tell me the truth, you can go. Or—No, I know. I'll tell Lucy you've claimed him for yourself.”

“What?” Ellie asked in horror. “You can't do that. I mean, bad enough the rest of the town will probably gossip about us because I had to make sure he didn't die on the way to the Trader's or here, but if you say it's true, Lucy will believe you. They all will.”

Beth frowned. “Make sure he doesn't die? What are you talking about?”

“He was stabbed last night.”

“What?”

“Keep your voice down, Beth. I don't want all of them knowing. His daughter will find out soon enough, but Danny's still too young for that sort of thing, and even if he isn't, if too many people know he's been hurt—I'm afraid that the person who did it will go after him again. Well, he almost has to. Hardy's the only one who knows what he did.”

“Why would anyone try to kill him?”

“You know why,” Ellie said, still feeling the guilt about being the cause of all this. Hardy wouldn't even have been involved if she hadn't pushed and nagged and basically forced him into it. “Because I asked him to help me find out who killed Matt Pryer and Wilmer Stoke.”

“Then... you know who did it?”

“No. Hardy didn't see anything more than a shadow. About all we know now is that the killer probably stabs them, leaves them on the cliff to die, and goes back to move the body later. At least, that's how it seems to have been in Hardy's case. He woke up and made it to my house, and I did what I could and got Doc Rowell to see him. He said Hardy was lucky. I'm not so sure he sees it that way.”

“I suppose not. We all heard him coughing, and with Lucy's husband being gassed, we know what that's like,” Beth said with a grimace. Then her eyes got wide, horrified. “El, the only people he talked to about the murder were Mark and Nige. You don't think it was one of them?”

“No,” Ellie said, because she didn't. Even as much as the war had changed Mark, she didn't believe he was a killer. “I don't think that at all. Hardy might. I don't think he trusts anyone, but then he doesn't know anyone here to trust.”

“His daughter,” Beth said doubtfully. “And you.”

“Me? He doesn't trust me.”

“He went to your house when he was stabbed, and you're here with him now,” Beth reminded her. “I'd say he trusts you.”

* * *

“You didn't have to come fetch me,” Daisy said, coming into the room, and Hardy grunted, not sure what else she'd expect. He hadn't set a time for her to be back, too preoccupied to realize what he was doing in letting her stay—a decision he'd regretted but had no good explanation for changing his mind about, even if he probably would have had he not been stabbed.

“'Course I did. Don't leave my daughter alone in a strange town. What kind of a father do you take me for?” he asked, and she smiled as she crossed over to him.

“The best,” she said, sitting next to him and giving his cheek a quick kiss. “Thank you for letting me stay. Chloe's beach was great, and she helped me with some other stuff, too.”

“Stuff?”

“Things. Girl things. I'm allowed to have things.”

Hardy nodded, deciding not to probe that one too much. “Fine. You ready to be off, then?”

“You could stay for supper,” Mrs. Latimer said, and he looked up as she came into the room with a tea tray. She set it on the table. “Like I said last night, we've always got too much. I practically have to feed the neighborhood to keep up with what my mum gives us. I'm sure Danny'll run down and get Tom and Fred, El. We can have a proper sit down this time.”

That was, Hardy thought, about the last thing he wanted. “I think we should—”

“And Ellie did say you wanted to talk to the vicar, and Mum's always wanting to invite him, so that wouldn't be hard to arrange.”

“What?” Hardy asked. “No. I'm not—”

“You can't expect to cook for yourself in your condition,” Miller told him. “Do you know how to cook at all?”

Hardy glared at her. He'd known more than Tess had, thanks to a few unpleasant years there in between his childhood home and when he'd really found his footing as a policeman. “It's not a condition.”

Miller shook her head. “You are impossible, you know that?”

“He is,” Daisy agreed, leaning her head against his shoulder, unknowingly nestling against his bad side. He stiffened and tried not to hiss in pain. She sat up, frowning at him. “Dad?”

“It's fine, Daisy. It's nothing.”

“It's not, actually,” Miller told her. “Your father was stabbed last night.”

“What?”

“Miller, the hell do you think you're doing?”

“You can't keep it from her. She needs to know you're hurt, that you're not obeying the doctor's orders, and that someone might come after you again. I'm not saying that to frighten her. She needs to be prepared. You can't protect her if she doesn't know.”

Hardy shook his head. It was his right to tell his daughter, and he should have been the one to decide what Daisy knew or didn't know. All that nonsense about doctor's orders—they didn't know anything, and he wasn't that bad off. Why Miller couldn't understand that he'd survived worse was beyond him. The evidence was all over him, and he knew she'd seen it.

“I'm fine,” he told his daughter. “I didn't see who did it, but I lived. I just made the mistake of finding Miller's house in the dark. Much more trouble than it was worth.”

“Dad—”

“Remember that daft medal? It's not half as bad as that was, I promise. I'm not lying. Miller's a bloody fussy nuisance, and she's wrong. I'm not dying. She didn't need to scare you like that. It hurts, but it's not as bad as it could have been.”

“Mum said the daft medal almost got you killed.”

Hardy grimaced. It had, he couldn't deny that, but he wished Tess hadn't made Daisy aware of that. All he'd told his daughter was that he'd gotten hurt so they gave him a stupid medal, not that he'd almost died and that almost went to Tess as his widow.

“Daft medal?” Miller repeated. “That is what you call your Victoria's Cross?”

Mrs. Latimer frowned. “That's... it's the highest honor you can get, isn't it? It is. Chief Constable Teel made such a fuss about his son getting one. I swear, it seemed more important to him that his son had that medal than it was he died.”

“Men do very stupid things for honor,” Hardy agreed. He rose. “I want to see the cliff again before it gets dark.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy visits the cliff and interviews the vicar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've been leading up to the end scene for a while, but it took quite a while to get to it. It is part of the reason why this story got the title it did.

* * *

“Didn't need a bloody procession,” Hardy grumbled as they walked along the cliff edge. Ellie shook her head, almost amused by him this time. She shouldn't be, this was annoying, but there was something to be said for the predictability of it. He was behaving just as expected, and that was some comfort as well, seeing as he had thrown everything off by getting stabbed the night before.

She still didn't know what she would have done if he'd died on her, and she took his grumbling as a sign that he was, actually, improving. He did snap a bit when he was upset and hurting, no denying that, but he was managing, and they all had to be glad of that, even the ones that didn't know him well.

“It's not a procession,” Ellie told him, and he looked at her with annoyance. “Besides, wasn't part of the plan to keep people around you so that he wouldn't feel he could come after you again?”

“Don't start, Miller.”

“I didn't,” she told him. “You did.”

He glared at her, and she caught his daughter watching them. Ellie had to wonder what she thought of all this. She hadn't made the best first impression on her—well, no, that had come later. They'd only exchanged pleasantries the first time, a little wave and smile. If Ellie hadn't found the body and thought that Hardy had dismissed her concerns that it was murder, she might have done a lot better with the girl. She couldn't tell if Daisy blamed her or not, though she did blame herself.

“You are making this more difficult.”

“Me?” Ellie asked, shaking her head. “Hardy, I don't think you know how to do anything without making it more difficult, mostly because you won't accept anyone's help or a bit of social interaction. Think of the example you're setting for your daughter.”

He snorted. “Daisy is fine, no thanks to me, as I'm well aware.”

“Don't say that,” Daisy said. “You know that's not true, even if you had to go off to the war. You were the one that made the house feel safe. You were the one that made sure I was in bed every night and who read the stories. She didn't ever give me more than one.”

“She always said I spoiled you,” he said, and his daughter smiled at him, taking his arm on his good side. Ellie bit back a smile of her own. She felt a bit like an intruder now, but she thought it was nice they were so close to each other.

“Are you sure we're going the right way? I think you might have been lost last night.”

Hardy gave her a look. “I am not lost. This is the route I walked back from the Latimer's that night. I stopped to think about the case, and I found myself near the edge. Salt air set off my lungs, and then I saw him—saw a bloody shadow.”

“I think this is the place,” Daisy said, grimacing. She took a step back, and Ellie looked over to see a stain marring the grass. She winced. That did look like blood, and Daisy had almost stepped in it.

“I think I agree,” Ellie said, taking a breath. She looked down the path, wondering if it was worth waiting for one of the boys to bring her the camera. The sun was going, and she might not get anything, and as it was, it was only a small mark on the grass. “Does this help at all?”

Hardy eyed the blood and moved closer to the cliff's edge. Daisy frowned, her hand going out like she wanted to stop him and pull him back, but she didn't. “Had the sense I'd missed something. Still do. No idea what it was. Was sure he didn't fall or jump. That's about all.”

Ellie sighed. They'd known that before he came out here, back when she first saw the body. “Now what?”

“I suppose now we go back and eat,” Daisy said. “I'm not sure I can. Dad—”

“Darling, I'm fine. I'm sore, but I'm fine. Just—we'll go back to the inn. I don't have an appetite, and we can—”

“And if Beth did get Paul Coates to show up for dinner?” Ellie asked. “Don't you want to ask him what he knows about Matt?”

“Miller, you surprise me. I never thought you'd suspect the vicar.”

* * *

“Colonel Hardy,” Coates said, turning to him in the middle of the meal. Hardy knew he'd been sat there on purpose, and he found it both irritating and useful. He shouldn't have come back to the Latimer house, hadn't wanted to, but between Miller and his daughter, he'd been outnumbered. He was too tired to fight them both. “I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to speak to you before—that was you in the back of the church at the funeral, wasn't it?”

“It was, and no colonel. War's over,” Hardy said. He had never been very comfortable with his rank, undeserving of it as he knew he was. Part of it was meant as an appeasement, giving him a promotion so he'd keep his head down and not challenge them, and part because they knew what they were doing sending him back to the front—and they hadn't cared.

“Right, sorry. It's just... you were in uniform, so I thought—”

“Pryer was a soldier. I gave him the respect I'd do anyone whose funeral I was attending.”

“Yes, of course,” Coates said. “That makes perfect sense. I was—Did you know him well? I'm afraid I didn't. I know that he grew up here, but I've only just come myself. While I've tried to be available to everyone and met as much of the town as I can, I've yet to make any real... impact, as it were.”

Hardy nodded, considering Coates' words. It sounded almost as if the man was trying to pretend he didn't know anything while being as cooperative as possible. Hardy didn't like it. “You gave Pryer a church funeral. His death is considered a suicide. Why would you do that?”

“I... he was a good man, from what I knew of him, and I didn't think he deserved condemnation after all he'd been through.”

“And that was?”

“The war, of course,” Coates said, frowning at him.

“Thousands of men went to war. Thousands came back in worse shape than Pryer. The man was fit, had all his limbs, his health. Why should he jump?”

Coates stared at him. “Are you actually asking me that?”

Hardy waited. He thought it was rather clear he just did. He was distantly aware that the others were no longer talking amongst themselves, all of them focused on what Coates was about to say.

“I... I don't know,” Coates said after a minute of silence. “I couldn't see any reason why he would be upset. He didn't mention anything to me. He seemed in relative good spirits when I saw him last, though as I've said, I didn't know him well.”

“You spoke as if you did.”

Coates frowned. “I didn't think you heard most of that speech.”

“Excuse me?”

“That was you that got up in the middle of it and rushed outside, wasn't it? You were coughing. You didn't come back in before I finished.”

“Noticed all of that, did you?” Hardy asked. “Tell me, then, with all these fine powers of observation you have, why didn't you see any sign of Matt Pryer's suicide?”

“Because I don't think he did commit suicide. That wasn't him.”

Hardy almost smiled in triumph. That wasn't a confession, but it would do. “And Wilmer Stoke? Would he have committed suicide?”

Coates swallowed, showing his discomfort. “No, I didn't think he would have.”

“Did you know him well?”

“Not as well as I knew Matt,” Coates told him, still frowning. “I don't understand. Why are you asking me all this? And why are you so hostile if you obviously don't believe that either of them committed suicide? Isn't confirmation what you want?”

“I didn't say it was.”

“Then what do you want?”

That Hardy couldn't answer. He did not know.

* * *

“You were a little harsh on him, don't you think?”

“What do you want from me, Miller? First you harangue me until I stay to investigate this murder, then you drag me to one terrible dinner after another, I get stabbed, and you're going to complain because I was direct with the bloody vicar?”

Ellie sighed. He was impossible, but then she didn't know why she would have thought otherwise. She'd been around him enough in the past few days. “I just thought you'd be a little more subtle since we were at dinner with everyone to hear you.”

“I didn't come here to make friends or play nice with the local man of God.”

“I know that. I'm not so sure you know what nice is,” Ellie told him, knowing that was a lie, as she had seen him with his daughter. “It does make me wonder how you ever got anything done as a policeman, even if it was just for the army. And you haven't actually said what you did come here for.”

He shook his head. “You know better than that. It was not just for the army.”

“Then why are you so bloody terrible at this?”

“I'm not,” Hardy said. “Where is Daisy? I'm done here.”

Ellie looked around. “I think she and Chloe went for a walk. You may have embarrassed your daughter just a little.”

He grunted. “You were the one that arranged all of this. Why the hell did you and your friend sit him next to me if you didn't expect me to ask him anything? All I did was confirm what we already knew. We knew Matt Pryer didn't kill himself, and we suspected that the vicar didn't believe he did. I wasn't sure what he thought about Wilmer Stoke.”

“You antagonized him, and he didn't actually tell you anything about what he knew of Matt.”

“If you want to go console him, be my guest,” Hardy said, sipping from his drink. She was tempted to grab it and toss it on him. She could accuse him of being drunk, she supposed, but she didn't think he was. He'd had no more than the rest of them, and it should have made him more agreeable.

“Are you still in pain? We should take a look at the wound. I'll bet you made it worse doing all that you have today.”

“Miller—”

“You can't do anything about any of this if you're dead,” she reminded him. “And if that wound gets infected or is bleeding again, you will be. I can't believe I let it go this long, but you've been irritating me and I didn't get much sleep last night.”

“Enough with the bloody fussing.”

Ellie shook her head. “I think we should get you back to bed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Doctor Rowell said you should rest. You know this,” she insisted, “and that if you did get an infection, with your lungs... You could die. This isn't a joke. You need to heal, and we've done as much as we can today.”

He shook his head. “Not enough. Can feel it. Like this pain, throbbing in my side, irritating the hell out of me. Something small but stupidly obvious, and I can't see it. I don't know what it is, but I can sense it. Can't rest.”

“You have to,” she said. “I'm going to find Daisy, and I'll let her put your arse in bed.”

He glared at her, but she gave him a cheery smile. He didn't have a choice, and they both knew it. She pointed to the chair. “Stay. Sit there and rest.”

* * *

“Thank you again for dinner, Mrs. Latimer,” Daisy said, wondering if they'd all expect her to apologize for her father's behavior. She wasn't going to, but she thought they all were. She'd been glad when Chloe asked her to walk with her, grateful to get away from the group.

The Latimers were nice people, but she didn't think they liked her father much. No one did, and she should be used to it. She hadn't cared when she was younger, not when she had both her parents and her father wasn't half-dead from the war, but now things were different. They were in a strange town, didn't know anyone here, and someone had tried to kill him.

She could have understood it if it had been her aunt, but no one here should have reason to.

“You're welcome,” Mrs. Latimer told her, and strangely that seemed to be genuine. “We're glad to have you. Just ask Chloe.”

“Mum,” Chloe said, but she smiled at Daisy. “She's right, though. Was nice having you.”

“Even with my dad interrogating the vicar?”

“I think they said you were welcome, not him,” Mrs. Miller said, smiling as she teased. “Sorry. Couldn't help it.”

“Ellie,” Mrs. Latimer said. “That's terrible.”

“So was her dad,” Chloe said, and Daisy looked at her. “Well, to Mr. Coates, at least. Not to the rest of us. He was polite enough, but I think when he's working he forgets that sort of thing. Don't you think, Daisy?”

“I've never seen him work before now,” Daisy admitted. She'd seen him go off to work all her life, and she'd always known he was a policeman, but she'd never actually gone with him. The war had taken him away, and she'd barely seen him. Only now did she have any idea what any of it was like for him. “I know he can be... intimidating. To me, though, he's just my father.”

“Speaking of your father, I think he needs to rest. You up to getting him into bed? I've said my bit, but he won't listen to me. I think he will with you.”

“He might,” Daisy agreed.

“Do you think talking to Mr. Coates helped at all?” Mrs. Latimer asked. “I almost regret asking him to come by.”

“I don't know,” Mrs. Miller said. “Hardy said he confirmed what he already knew. He also says something's missing, but he said that before. Oh, that reminds me. Tom brought the camera over, didn't he? I thought I told Danny to ask him for it.”

“Oh, he did,” Mrs. Latimer said. “I left it in the kitchen, on the counter. Too busy serving, so I told them to leave it and go wash up, and I almost forgot all about it. You can take it with you.”

“You still have your developing equipment? I think Joe's is still around, but I don't really know much about it.”

“Not much about it?” Mrs. Latimer snorted. “You almost burned your house down. I'll do it. You just leave it to me.”

“Beth, I took some pictures that might be unpleasant.” Mrs. Latimer coughed. “Of Matt Pryer's body. Just in case we missed something.”

“Unbelievable,” Mrs. Latimer said. “I should destroy that film right now.”

“No, Beth, please,” Mrs. Miller said. “Hardy thinks he missed something obvious. What if it's in the pictures? I want to end this as soon as possible. Everyone does. Whoever did this killed two people already, and they tried to kill Hardy. We have to do whatever we can to stop them. That's why I took the pictures.”

“All right, I'll develop them, but you're taking them tonight. I don't want them in my house. They shouldn't be in _your_ house, either.”

“Dad will keep them,” Daisy said, not wanting to hear them fight about it. “I'll go see if he's ready to leave.”

* * *

“Is he asleep?” Ellie whispered in Daisy's ear, and the girl looked at her helplessly. Hardy's eyes were closed, but it was hard to tell if he was actually out or not. Maybe the alcohol with dinner was enough. Or maybe he'd passed out because he'd been stabbed. This could go either way.

“If you keep whispering and he's not, he'll say something,” Daisy said. “Though that doesn't look very comfortable.”

“He got himself stabbed. I doubt anywhere's comfortable for him.”

“Are you wittering again, Miller?” Hardy asked, and Daisy half-smiled when he did, proved right. She crossed over to his side, sitting down next to him. “You're not Miller. Too pretty to be Miller.”

Ellie frowned, trying to tell herself she didn't care if Hardy thought she was pretty or not. Any father would say that his daughter was the prettiest girl in the room, wouldn't they? And... was he drunk? He almost sounded a bit drunk. She hadn't thought he'd had that much.

“We should probably get you back to the house.”

“House?” Hardy asked, shaking his head. “Don't have a house.”

“My house,” she said, and Daisy looked back at her. “I think it would be better if he wasn't somewhere they'd expect him to be. Everyone knows he has a room there, and if the killer tries again, they'll go there. Neither of you are safe there, but there's room in my house for both of you.”

“People know you helped me,” Hardy said, groaning as he tried to rouse himself. “Bloody hell. Shouldn't have had that other glass.”

“You need to rest, Dad.”

“I'll be fine. Can go to the inn.”

“Stop arguing with me, Hardy. I don't want this killer to go after you, and Beth's developing the pictures I took, so you can look at those if you manage to stay awake after we get back.”

“Miller,” he muttered, putting a hand to his head. “You are... obnoxious.”

“Same to you.”

Daisy shook her head at both of them. “He didn't bring a jacket, did he?”

“Don't need one,” Hardy said. He forced himself up and then stopped. “Wait, Miller. Didn't you say the camera was your husband's?”

“Yes. I suppose you think I should developed the pictures myself, but I'm not the photographer. Joe was. Beth agreed to do it—and yes, she knows what I took pictures of—because I almost destroyed the house once. Joe banned me from his darkroom after that, so I had him put it away when he was at war.”

“Was the film already in the camera?” Hardy asked, and Ellie frowned, not sure why he now had an interest in the camera. He'd never cared before.

“What does that matter?” Ellie asked. “Nothing from Joe's pictures would tell us who killed Matt or Wilmer. Joe didn't serve with them, and I don't think he was on leave at the same time as them, either. I'd have to check—”

“Shouldn't have had someone else develop the pictures,” Hardy said, putting a hand over his side. “Where is she?”

“It's fine,” Ellie said. “She knows. You can sit back down now. You just need to rest.”

“No. I don't—”

“Sit back down,” Daisy said, pulling him back toward the chair. “Please. We'll leave soon enough.”

Ellie heard a step behind her, and she turned around, ready to greet Beth. She frowned as she watched Beth approach. Something was wrong, she could see it from here, but as she started to ask about it, Beth got close and slapped her.

“How _could_ you? Unpleasant? Is that what you call this? This filth?”

“What are you talking about? I told you I took pictures of Matt's body, but only the wound and with the lighting, I wasn't even sure you could see anything,” Ellie said, staring at her in confusion, touching her stinging cheek. “What did you find?”

“This is my boy,” Beth said, shoving the photo in Ellie's face. “My boy. I swear, if you did this, I will not stop with a slap. I'll gut you. I swear I will.”

Ellie took the photograph and gagged, almost vomiting on the spot.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout of Beth's discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There isn't much case here. I figured the emotional impact of that discovery needed to be explored. I worry I didn't do it justice, as my own mood is... kind of all over right now.

* * *

Ellie shook her head, trying not to gag as she did. She didn't think she'd ever felt so sick in her life. She knew it wasn't even as bad as it could have been—Danny was alone in the picture, asleep, even—but that didn't change what it was—a picture of a naked child. Danny probably never knew it had been taken, never woke, but no one should photograph him like that. It wasn't right. She could see how wrong it was even as it tried to seem innocent.

“Beth, I swear on my life, I did not take this picture,” Ellie told her. She choked back what was trying to come up her throat. “I didn't. Why would anyone do that?”

“You were taking pictures of a dead body.”

“Because they were going to bury him and no one believed it was murder, but I saw it, and it was. I thought it might help Hardy prove it. And... I thought if he changed his mind about helping me, I'd still have that. He wasn't very willing at first. Told me to go away and forget it. Didn't you?”

Hardy nodded. “Aye, I did.”

Beth looked at him. “So, what, you're defending her now? Why would you do that? I thought I knew her, but I don't. Not if she's taking pictures like that.”

“I just told you I didn't do it. You know me. I'm rubbish with the camera. It was always Joe's thing. He was the one with the eye. He used to take such nice pictures of the cliffs and the boys playing at the beach... That one time I tried to take a picture to send him after he went to the front, you remember it, don't you? How blurry and misshapen the boys looked?”

“How could I forget? They looked like sideshow horrors,” Beth said, almost smiling. Then she frowned. “El, if you didn't take those pictures... who did?”

“Oh, God, you don't think it was Tom now, do you? Why would he take pictures of Danny like that?”

“He didn't,” Hardy said, voice quiet. “There were pictures of Tom, too, weren't there, Mrs. Latimer?”

Beth nodded, looking ill. “I saw the ones of Tom first, and I thought I had to be wrong, but then there was one of Danny, my Danny, and he... I... I lost it. I came down here to confront Ellie. I had to know why she'd do something like that.”

“I didn't. I swear I didn't. Beth, I don't know where those pictures—wait.” Ellie turned to face Hardy. “You told me not to give her the camera. You didn't want me to show the pictures to anyone else. You were just saying that before Beth came down. You wanted to go stop her.”

Hardy shook his head. “Unbelievable. You're going to accuse me? Miller, think. When did I ever touch that camera? And the only time I was in your house for any extended amount of time, I was unconscious because I got stabbed. I didn't do it, and I bloody well wouldn't have.”

“I don't understand,” Ellie said, touching her head. “It doesn't make sense.”

“Because you don't want to see it,” he told her. “Miller, the camera belonged to your husband. You said he was the photographer in your family. He took the pictures.”

Ellie felt weak, reaching out for something to grab hold of. She covered her mouth, gagging again. She shook her head. “No. You're just saying that to blame the dead man because it's easier. Like letting Matt's death be a suicide. You didn't want to be involved, and now you're casting blame on Joe, and he can't defend himself. It's not him. He wouldn't do something like that.”

“Ellie, if you didn't take the pictures and Tom didn't...” Beth swallowed. “That does seem like it would be Joe. Unless... Olly? Could he have?”

“No, he wouldn't. And Lucy wouldn't. Even her husband wouldn't.” Ellie frowned. “But Joe? Why would Joe do that? He wouldn't.”

“Dad,” Daisy said, and Ellie looked over, almost forgetting she was there. She saw everyone watching her and swallowed. “You knew, didn't you? That there were pictures?”

“No. I just... knew there could be,” Hardy admitted, though it was clear he didn't want to say it, and definitely not to her. “Daize, would you go—”

“I already know,” she said. “There's no point in sending me off now.”

He grimaced, not liking that, either. Ellie wasn't sure she wanted Daisy hearing it, but better that than have half of it, right? If she talked about it to anyone, she'd get it wrong.

“You said Joe was killed in a friendly fire accident,” Ellie said. “Were you lying?”

“No. Officially, it is on record as friendly fire,” Hardy answered. He drew in a breath and let it out. “The private involved later admitted to me that he'd done it because your husband... made unsavory advances toward him. He'd been something of a mentor to the boy—one of those damned idiots that lied about their age to go—and he used that to make his actions seem innocent at first. By the time it reached that point, the boy felt he was trapped between past 'harmless' actions and his lies.”

“And he killed Joe?” Ellie asked, horrified. She didn't know what to think about any of this.

“He thought it was the only way.”

“And that boy... he's still alive?” Beth asked. “He would still say all that happened?”

“He told me right before he died,” Hardy said. “I couldn't prove any of it. We were shelled, the lines were a mess, I couldn't ask anyone about the nature of their friendship, not more than I already had.”

“So you came here to see if I knew?” Ellie asked. “You thought I'd... allow him to do that? That I wouldn't stop him?”

“Some women do. They won't defy their husbands no matter how wrong it is,” Hardy said. Ellie thought he spoke from experience there, something else he'd seen as a policeman. She didn't want to know. It was all too sickening. “I don't believe you ever knew.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Ellie said. Then she frowned. “We only found these pictures because I took them of Matt. You didn't have them. You didn't have proof.”

“I'm going back to the inn, Miller,” Hardy told her, pulling his daughter along with him. “Maybe you should... stay here. Shouldn't be alone.”

Ellie stared at him, not able to say anything or move as he left with his daughter.

* * *

“Ellie?”

“It can't be true. Beth, my husband. He couldn't have been that kind of man. I'd have known, and I didn't know,” Ellie said, looking up at her, confusion and horror still all over her face. 

Beth sat down beside her, watching her friend, not knowing what to do or say. She'd been so angry when she saw the picture of Danny, and anger had gotten her to Ellie's side, but she'd gone after the wrong person. She hadn't wanted to believe it was Ellie—and it wasn't—but it was still a nightmare.

It was Joe. Joe had taken those pictures of Danny and Tom, and he'd done things to a boy in the war. Beth was glad Joe was dead, but she didn't know what to think besides that. She didn't understand it any more than Ellie did.

“There are pictures.”

“That's just... maybe they're not what we think?”

Beth shook her head. “Ellie, they're of the boys. Naked. In bed, asleep. I think he must have undressed them while they were sleeping. And that sickens me. I'm sick.”

“So am I, Beth. I just... I can't believe it,” Ellie said. She shuddered. “I don't... I don't know why Hardy would lie about it. I mean—it couldn't have been him. He's right about that. He was never anywhere in my house alone, except when he'd been stabbed. He fell trying to get out of bed. It couldn't have been him. But I'd rather it was him. I don't want it to be Joe.”

Beth nodded. If they thought, even for a second, that it was Mark, she didn't know how she'd react. She hated even thinking about the possibility, but she couldn't _not_ think about it, not after those pictures.

“Oh, god, Beth, what if he did more than take a photograph?” Ellie asked, looking like she was about to vomit. “I can't do this. I can't... Beth, it can't be true. Joe wasn't that man.”

Beth put her arm around her, holding her. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. Joe had betrayed them all, taking pictures of the boys and doing God knew what else. “We'll have to talk to the boys.”

“What? No. They're not seeing those sick pictures. We're not showing them that.”

“El,” Beth began. “Look at me. That's right. You know we have to ask them if Joe did anything else. We're not showing them the pictures. We're burning those. Right now, right after this, but we can't... We can't let him do that sort of thing to our boys and do nothing about it.”

Ellie put a hand to her head. “God. My mum barely spoke about things between husband and wife. She didn't, even. Left that to Lucy to tell me what it was like, and she wasn't half terrifying about it. Now I have to ask my son if his father did anything unnatural to him? How do I do that?”

“I don't know,” Beth admitted. “I don't want to ask Danny, but I know I have to. We can't ignore it.”

“I'm not.”

“I know that. I wasn't saying you were.” Beth thought about it, pushing herself up out of the chair. “Right. I'm getting us some booze. We're going to drink it, and then we'll figure out what to say to the boys. And if we remember it in the morning, we'll do it. Otherwise, we'll do it when our heads stop hurting.”

“Beth.”

She shook her head, knowing her joke hadn't worked. “We need something. Just stay there. I'll get it. Least I can do after slapping you.”

Ellie touched her cheek. “If it was him, I'd have done a lot more to him. I don't blame you for this. I'd have done worse. You know I would have.”

“Joe wouldn't have had to worry about a bullet, that's for damned sure,” Beth agreed. She stopped, looking back from the doorway. “Are you going to keep looking into Matt's death?”

Ellie nodded. “I know it seems crazy, but I'm not letting that killer go. I don't care what Joe did. And I want to hate Hardy for telling me—”

“Can you, though? Is it really better not to know?”

“I don't know.”

* * *

“You were dreaming again last night.”

“You're fussing again,” Hardy countered, reaching for his tea. He sipped from it, trying to decide if his side was better or worse today. The wound throbbed, and she would want to do look at it if she knew. He would rather not go through that with his daughter, though Miller was an equally unwelcome prospect.

He doubted she'd want to see him, though. After what he'd told her about Joe Miller, what she knew from those pictures, she probably hated him.

“Are you going to leave now?”

“You in a rush to be someplace?” Hardy asked, frowning at her. She was the one who liked it here, and she'd even made a friend. Not that he thought Beth Latimer would want her daughter near his after last night, but that didn't mean Daisy should want to leave.

She shook her head. “I've nowhere else to be, not unless you do. I just... you came here to find out if he did it. And you were ready to leave. She almost figured it out at the end, right before we left the Latimer's. You know something else, something that proved it to you.”

“If I did, I'm not telling you,” Hardy said. “I never wanted you involved in this. Not in any of it. I wanted you far from this sort of thing. When you were younger, I could. I could leave you home with your mother, and neither one of you had any idea the sort of things I saw. Not then. Not in the war.”

“I'm not helpless,” she said. “I can be more than someone who sits at home—I will be. I'm not going to stay there. I'm not just marrying someone and having that be my entire life. It's not what I want.”

“It's not what I want for you, either.”

She frowned.

“What, you think I want you married off with some idiot boy who could never be good enough for you? You don't know me at all,” he told her. He reached over to take her hand. “I want you to do all you want to do. I don't want it to be about me, either. I don't want you becoming a nurse to take care of me. I'm fine. And you don't have throw away your future on me.”

“I'm not,” she insisted. “Though I do want to help, and we should get a look at that wound.”

“No.”

“You can't let it get infected, Dad. If the infection spread to your lungs, you could die, and I won't lose you, too.”

“Daisy, you're not to blame for your mother's death.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“I know you think you are because you got the flu before she did, but it wasn't your fault. She may have caught it taking care of you, but you don't know that.”

She bit her lip. “Dad, it's not about that. She's not why I want to be a nurse.”

“That's not what I said. I said it was why you blamed yourself.”

“Like you don't blame yourself?” Daisy demanded. “You do. You blame yourself for not being the same as her. Socially. You blame yourself for being gone all the time. You blame yourself for having to go off to the war. And for what Aunt Liza did, stealing everything while you were gone. You think I don't know, but I do.”

He almost smiled. She was a bit too much like him, his daughter was. He wanted to be proud. He couldn't help being worried.

“You didn't answer me. Are you still going to help her?”

“It's not about her,” Hardy said. “It's about two men being murdered and that killer walking free.”

Daisy frowned. “Then why didn't you do it when she first asked for your help?”

Hardy looked away. “This sort of thing pulls you under. Like drowning. People think it doesn't happen, murder. This place is so bloody blind to it they instantly label it suicide. And someone who does it more than once...”

“Dad?”

He rose, and pain flared through his side. He refused to cover the wound or give into the pain and sit back down. “Go to the Latimer's.”

“What?”

“There's someone I need to see, and I'm not taking you with me. Go to the Latimer's. Now.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie and Beth prepare to talk to the boys. Hardy goes off on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is the talk with Tom here. If that's something that could be triggery, you can skip that part, though I didn't do it in any real graphic terms. I was trying more for the emotions, and I doubt I got them. Still, that's a bit of a warning for any who might want it.

* * *

“How are you feeling?” Beth asked from the stove as Ellie entered the kitchen.

Ellie grimaced. A part of her didn't know, a part of her didn't want to believe it, and the rest of her was angry. Scared and angry. She had loved her husband, and she'd mourned him when he died. She swore it couldn't be true, that she would have known, and then she looked at Tom's behavior and moods and worried that maybe she had. She just hadn't understood, and she'd failed her son if that was true.

And what if he'd done something to Fred? He was still a baby.

“Why isn't it a lie?” Ellie asked, and Beth winced. “I keep going back and forth about it. I believe it because I have to. The pictures are real. I saw them. You saw them. No one else did, thank god, but Hardy knows, and his daughter has some idea. And I know it wasn't me. I do. It wasn't me, it wasn't Tom, and it wasn't Olly. That leaves Joe, doesn't it?”

Beth nodded, filling a cup with water and adding in tea. She brought it over to Ellie. “I swear, if I hear he did actually touch Danny, I... Well, it's stupid, isn't it? I can't do anything to Joe. He's dead, and he's buried over there, so it's not like I can even go do something to his grave.”

“I suppose we could burn everything of his that's in my house,” Ellie said, looking down at the tea. “How is this even possible? Joe seemed so... perfect. I know I loved him, but he was wonderful with me and the boys. I thought the worst thing was him going to war, and then it was him dying, but this? He couldn't have.”

“Only he did,” Beth said. “At least... he took those pictures. I don't know what else he might have done, but he did do that much.”

“Maybe it was just looking. Looking isn't so bad, is it?” Ellie swore, tempted to throw her cup. “Listen to me. As if I could somehow make this better. I can't. I know that. If Joe was that sort of man, then he... he was that sort of man. I can't change it. I can't make it better. I can't even—you're right. We have to know if he did anything to the boys.”

“I was up all night thinking about it. I couldn't stop worrying. I almost went in and woke them,” Beth admitted. “Kept telling myself if it had happened, it was bad enough without me making it worse by scaring them and waking them up in the middle of the night.”

“Same here,” Ellie said, taking a deep breath. “I suppose we'd better get them up now. I'm surprised Fred isn't already awake.”

“I can ask Chloe to take him down to the beach for a bit while we talk to the boys.”

Ellie nodded. That was a good idea. Then she wouldn't have to deal with him fussing while she tried to ask Tom about the unthinkable.

“Maybe we should start with only one of them,” Ellie began, not sure if that was better or worse. “Though... Tom might not want to say in front of you and Danny me, so maybe not.”

“We'll see who is up first,” Beth said, looking as miserable as Ellie felt.

* * *

“Tom, sweetheart,” Ellie said, hoping she was strong enough to have this conversation. She wasn't sure that she was. She swallowed, taking a breath and letting it out again. “Sit down, please.”

“What's wrong, Mum?” Tom asked, frowning as he sat. She took the space next to him, reaching for his hand. He kept frowning, looking up at her for answers. She wasn't sure how to give them, still trying to find words to ask the right questions.

“I need to ask you about your father,” Ellie began, glad that Fred was not going to hear any of this.

“Why do you need to ask about him? I know he's dead. I'm fine. I don't want to talk about him.”

Ellie felt a little bit sick. She wanted to be wrong about that, but Tom's defensive words did not seem like a good sign. She knew that he'd been a bit tired of people telling him how sorry they were Joe was dead, but it was a small town, and that was what people did, even if they didn't like someone. Joe had been well-liked.

She almost wished she'd asked Beth to sit in with her, but the boys were up at the same time, so they'd decided to split them up for these talks, just in case maybe that would help. Ellie didn't know. She didn't think there was any kind of procedure for this, a good way of discussing what Joe might have done with a child.

“Did your father...” Ellie faltered, swallowing down bile. “Did your father ever do anything you... didn't like or feel comfortable with?”

“What?”

“This is very important, Tom. I need to know if your father ever touched you in a way that didn't seem right or asked you to do things that you didn't like. And I don't mean your chores. I mean... something that might make you feel dirty or wrong—”

“Why are you asking me this?” Tom stood, shaking his head. “I can't believe he told you. He said it wasn't his place. He lied. He said he wouldn't tell.”

Ellie stared at her son. “Your father couldn't have—Hardy. Hardy told you he wouldn't tell? Oh, god, is that why you hugged him?”

“No. He's a liar. I never should have trusted him. He was wrong. He doesn't know anything. It was just... They were hugs. Nothing wrong with hugs. It wasn't anything wrong. He was my dad. It was fine. He could do that. He could, right?”

Ellie forced herself not to react, though she wanted to vomit. “Tom, what did your father do when he hugged you?”

“He told me not to tell you.”

“He's gone now, and I think you better tell me,” Ellie said, trying to be gentle even as her own horror grew. She couldn't believe that Joe could have done something to Tom. His own son. Not that it was better if he'd done it to someone else—and according to Hardy, he had. If Joe hadn't died in the war, what would he have done to his boy? What had he done before he died?

“It was just a hug.”

Ellie shook her head. She didn't believe that. As much as she still loved Joe and didn't want any of this to be true, she knew that she no longer trusted her husband. She did think it must have happened, between the photos, Tom, and what Hardy had said last night. “If it was just a hug, why wouldn't he want you to tell me? Why would you feel you couldn't?”

“Mum, please,” Tom begged, and she thought he wanted to run from the room. “Please.”

“I know this is hard, but you need to tell me,” Ellie said, reaching for him. “I need you to tell me.”

“I... It was a hug,” he whispered, not looking at her.

“No, it was more than that,” she said, sick but sure of that much, at least. “Wasn't it? He... did other things when he hugged you, didn't he?”

Tom lowered his head in shame. “Mum...”

“Sweetheart, you don't have to be afraid to tell me or ashamed,” she told him, moving her hand to touch his face. “I don't want you to feel like you can't tell me. Or that you've done something wrong.”

“It wasn't. He was my dad. It was fine for him to touch me. Even kiss me. Nothing was wrong. It wasn't. he was my father. He wouldn't have done something bad to me. He wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't have... It wasn't wrong.”

“Tom, it was,” she said, biting her lip and fighting tears. “What he did was wrong, and if I'd known, I would have stopped him. She pulled him into her arms. I am so sorry.”

Tom looked up at her. “Mum, I thought... I thought he couldn't... hurt me. He didn't, but it didn't feel right. Not like other secrets. And you're saying it's wrong, and what did I do that was so—”

“No, that wasn't you,” Ellie said, pulling him into her arms and holding onto him. “That was not you. Your father did something he shouldn't have done. Touching like that, between a man and a child, it's not right. You thought you couldn't say no because he was your father. And he was grown, and he knew better, but he still did it. He was... there are things that happen between a man and woman—well, not always between them, but between two people—and sometimes it can feel very good because they love each other and want to give each other pleasure. Sometimes, though, people use that in a way that it shouldn't be done, and when they use it to hurt someone, it's... it's a crime.”

“Hardy said he didn't come to arrest Dad.”

That bastard had known, and she would have words for him later. She wanted to go find him and hit him until she couldn't, angry as she was. Her boy was in pain, and her husband had done this, and he was dead, so there was no hurting him, but someone needed to pay. 

And someone had to help Tom.

“Your father is gone,” she said, “and he can't hurt anyone now, but I am worried he might have done if he hadn't died.”

Tom shuddered. “It would have been... worse than what he did?”

“Yes,” she whispered, rocking him and letting her own tears fall. “I'm here. I'm not leaving you, and I'm not ever going to let anyone hurt you ever again.”

* * *

“Daisy!”

She heard her name and turned, seeing Chloe hurrying up the path, Fred Miller in her arms. She gave her a warm smile, and Daisy tried to return it, but she couldn't, not after last night and her conversation with her father.

She'd headed toward the Latimer house not because he told her to but because she needed someone to help her stop him, and she didn't know if she could ask Mrs. Miller to do it after last night. She considered Mrs. Latimer, maybe, but she'd been a part of that confrontation and knew about the photos, too. She might not want to be involved, not when her father had known all along how bad Mr. Miller had been when he was alive.

“Mum wanted to have some big secret talk,” Chloe said, “so she sent me out with Fred, but the wind's picked up and he's too cold to play. I was just heading in.”

Daisy nodded. She had a good idea what that talk was about. She'd said as much to her father earlier—he'd found something that proved the allegations from that private, and it had to be Tom Miller, didn't it?

“I'm glad you came back by,” Chloe said. “I wanted to ask you about last night.”

“You heard that, did you?”

“Not all of it, no,” Chloe said. “I only got the occasional word, and I wanted to come back down, but Mum always hears me on the stairs, and that would have been the end of it. I thought I'd just ask you. You were there for all of it, weren't you?”

“Not all of it. Dad left soon as he could, but he had to straighten a few things out for both of them before he did. Your mum had it all wrong, and Mrs. Miller didn't want to believe it, but he knew, so he told them.”

“Knew what? He didn't even know our families before he came here.”

“He knew Joe Miller. He investigated his death.”

Chloe frowned. “Was it suicide? I thought it was—”

“It wasn't suicide. It was...” Daisy glanced at Fred. “I know why she sent him off, so maybe I shouldn't say anything else now. I just... Dad went off to talk to someone, wouldn't tell me who, wouldn't let me come, and I don't like it. I think he's going to end up hurt again. Or dead.”

“You don't think it was the vicar, do you? Why would a priest attack your father? Not that he didn't kind of... attack the priest first, but that was just a bit of a harsh words, and not even about him that much.”

“I don't know,” Daisy said. “All I know is I have to find a way to stop him from getting himself killed.”

* * *

Hardy grimaced again as he made his way up the lane. He didn't remember what had made the innkeeper prattle on about this place or why it had stuck in his memory at all, but he'd put a few things together and figured it was worth the trip. He didn't know that it was important, since his little pieces could mean nothing in the long run, but he figured it was no less necessary than his unproductive conversation with the vicar.

Still, it had nagged at him, what he'd said to Daisy. Soon as he'd opened his mouth, he realized the error he'd made, and maybe it was nothing, but he wouldn't be able to rest until he was sure. His side was getting more irritating by the minute, but it was his mind that wouldn't let him alone, as usual.

He opened the gate and started up the walk, heading toward the house. He wasn't surprised by it, not considering the man he'd come to see. Self-important people needed self-important homes.

He went to the door and knocked. The breeze stirred, and he listened for sounds of life inside. He didn't hear anything, but he would have thought that even if the man of the house had already gone, there would be one staff member, hired to clean.

He circled around the back of the house, his mind caught up with thoughts of how stupid he was being. He should have gone into town first, but he'd thought that the home was a better choice, not so much neutral ground as it was a place where the other man could remain private, risking less of the humiliation that Hardy thought might be motivating him.

He heard something in one of the back buildings, the garden shed from the look of it, but when he went nearer to take a look, the place had gone silent again. He tried to peek into the window, but someone had painted over the glass, and he couldn't make anything out inside.

Fine. He'd wasted his time here. He'd go back to town and start over where he should have been in the first place.

He took one step away from the shed when he heard someone behind him.

He turned back, careful not to spook anyone, though that wouldn't take much, given the wild look in the man's dark eyes. His beard was longer than Hardy's and completely unkempt, and judging from the smell, he'd been hiding for days.

Hardy frowned. “You wouldn't by any chance be young Mr. Teel, would you?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth talks to Danny. Hardy confronts the killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I almost wasn't going to put the whole of Beth's conversation with Danny in detail, but summarizing it came off bad, trying for a small flashback was worse, and I wrote the whole thing out. It does deal with the same sort of thing, so... I gave a bit of warning.

* * *

“Danny,” Beth began, not sure how to ask her son about any of this. She'd pushed for it while Ellie was still trying to understand what was happening, but she hadn't known how hard it would be until just now. How did she speak of such terrible things with her little boy? He was so innocent, and so was Tom. This shouldn't be happening. How was this her life?

“Mum, what is it? What's wrong?” Danny asked.

“Sit down, please,” she said, patting the spot next to her. “Sweetheart, I need you to tell me if Joe Miller ever... If he ever did or said something to you that made you uncomfortable.”

Danny frowned. “Like what? Joe was... he was all right. He wasn't my father, but he wasn't bad or anything to me. Never shouted at me. Didn't shout at Tom, either.” 

“I mean,” Beth took a deep breath and let it back out. She was going to have to be more specific, and that was difficult. She hadn't known how to talk about this with Chloe, and she was practically grown. That conversation had been a lot easier, though. This felt as wrong as what she knew Joe had done. “Did he ever touch you? Not like the usual sort of touching. I mean the kind that doesn't seem quite right.”

“Mum?”

“Please,” she said. “I need you to tell me if he ever did anything you thought was wrong.”

He frowned. “I don't understand.”

“Did he ever try to... I don't know, kiss you? Did he try and touch you someplace you didn't like?”

Danny shook his head. “He never kissed me. Not once. He... he hugged me a couple times. Sometimes it seemed be a bit long, but he never kissed me or anything like that. Why would you ask me that?”

“I'm sorry,” Beth said, pulling him into her arms. He stiffened, but she held him close. “It's just we found out that Joe was taking pictures he shouldn't have, and I didn't know if it was more than that or not. He could have... Oh, I don't even want to think about it.”

Danny pulled away from her. “He didn't do anything wrong. I know one time Tom thought he had when he saw Joe hug me, but it weren't nothing.”

Beth thought it might have been. She felt her stomach twist up, and she figured it was worse for Ellie in the other room, talking to Tom. Joe hadn't done much to Danny—he'd done enough to where if he were alive, she'd hurt him—but it was probably worse with Tom.

She looked back at her boy. “Did Tom ever tell you that his father had done something like that?”

“No. I told you. He was mad about the hug, practically pulled his dad off me, but he didn't say his dad did anything wrong.”

Beth nodded. “Right. That's... well, we'll just... Dan, Tom's probably going to be very upset after this. Because I think his dad did do those things to him, the ones I asked you about, and it's going to be very hard—”

“Since when is hugging and kissing so bad? I mean, some dads don't. Boys at school say their dads would beat 'em before hugging and they don't even kiss their mums, but it's not so bad. Dad does hug me. Not often, but he does.”

“That hug, like the one I just gave you, that's not wrong, but Joe... Joe took pictures of you. Naked.”

“What?”

“He was not the good man we thought he was. He was a monster, and he might have done you or Tom or even Fred real harm,” Beth said, wincing as she said it. “I'm not trying to scare you. I don't want you scared. I just want you to know... to know why I was worried and why I had to ask.”

Danny nodded. “So... what do we do? I mean... it was Joe that did wrong things, right? That's what you said.”

“It was, and you're right. Tom is not to blame for any of this. You're not to blame. That is all Joe. So you just keep on being the good friend to Tom I know you are,” she said, touching his cheek. “Thank you. For telling me the truth and for helping him.”

She hugged him anyway, relieved and yet still worried about Tom.

* * *

“Shh, now,” Mrs. Latimer said, pulling Chloe and Daisy away from the door as soon as they'd entered. “Ellie's in there with Tom, and we are not interrupting them. He's had a bad time of it, from what I can tell and what Danny told me.”

Daisy winced, and Chloe frowned at her. She still hadn't told her new friend all of what she'd heard the night before, and she'd been hoping she was wrong, but she knew her father too well for that. He'd known that something had happened to Tom, and now everyone did. Well, everyone but Chloe and little Fred.

“We can leave them alone,” Daisy said, “only I need someone to help me with my dad. He's gone off to talk to someone about the murder, and he's going to get himself killed. I don't even know where he went.”

Mrs. Latimer stared at her. “Are you sure? Maybe he just—”

“He said he wasn't taking me, and he told me to come here. I think he wanted me far away from it, and it's not like I haven't heard some awful things. I was there last night. I know what Mrs. Miller's husband did. And I know about the murders. Someone tried to kill him. Sometimes I think my aunt would like that to happen, but then she'd be stuck with me, and why would she want that?”

Chloe winced. “Daisy—”

“I don't mean that. I just... I kind of hate my aunt, and I have reason to. She stole everything from us, and she shouldn't have been able to,” Daisy said. “That's not the point. I know he sent me off where I'd be safe, and he doesn't do that unless something is wrong. He had a case once where the guy who killed his business partner started following him, and he sent me to Aunt Liza's then, too. He tried to send my mum, but she wouldn't have it, and they fought something awful the entire time. He was right, 'cause that one almost killed Mum.”

Mrs. Latimer shook her head. “I wish you were kidding.”

“I only know about the whole almost killing her bit because Liza threw it in his face when he came back,” Daisy admitted, feeling uncomfortable. “I didn't actually see or hear any of it when it happened. I'm fine. I just don't think Dad is, or he won't be soon enough.”

“Well, you're going to need Ellie,” Mrs. Latimer said. “I don't know enough about this to know where your father might have gone. I'm not sure she does, either. I know that your father talked to Paul Coates, and he spoke to Nige and Mark, but that's all, and while I know Joe wasn't the man we thought he was, Mark's not that man. He couldn't have...”

Daisy knew that she had her doubts as soon as she said that out loud. She might not have realized it, but she was worried about her husband. Like a bunch of women were. Liza said all the soldiers had come home wrong, her father more than most, but she was wrong.

“I think I'd better ask her all the same,” Daisy said. I know she's got a lot, but if I knew where Dad might have gone, then I could—I could do something. Right now, all I can do is worry, and I hate it.”

“I know,” Mrs. Latimer said. She went over to the door and knocked on it before opening it. “Ellie? I'm sorry to do this, but Daisy's just come, and her father may have done something really stupid. We have to find where he might have gone—”

“He went alone?” Mrs. Miller asked. She turned to her son. “Tom, sweetheart, I am not abandoning you, but I need to talk to the others for a minute.”

He nodded. “I'm fine, Mum.”

“No, you're not,” Mrs. Miller disagreed. “Daisy, what was your father thinking? He agreed he wasn't putting himself out as bait until he'd healed. He wasn't going to be alone. That was supposed to keep him safe.”

Daisy shook her head. “I don't know. He was kind of... strange this morning.”

“Strange how?” 

Daisy grimaced. “He told me he didn't want me blaming myself for my mum's death.”

“What?”

“I was the one that had the 'flu first,” Daisy said. “Mum got sick after she took care of me. Only she died. I didn't. Dad thought I blamed myself. I got mad and said he blamed himself for all of it. Being away in the war. Mum dying. Liza cheating us out of our home. And this. Getting involved in this.”

“You know,” Mrs. Latimer began, “maybe he was just angry with you when he sent you away.”

“No,” Daisy said, sure of that. “I know that's not it. He had that distant look in his eyes. He does that when he's thinking, and he stopped in the middle of what he was saying. He figured something out, I'm sure of that, but I don't know what.”

Mrs. Miller frowned. “What was the last thing he said to you?”

“To come here because I wasn't going with him. He had someone he needed to see, and he wasn't taking me with him.”

Mrs. Miller sighed. “Before that. When he was talking and stopped in the middle of it. What was he saying then?”

“That... being involved in a murder was like drowning and getting pulled under. That this town didn't know what it was like and so everyone called it suicide.”

“Ellie?” Mrs. Latimer asked, but the other woman shook her head.

“I've no idea what that could have lead him to,” she said. “It's not much to go on. I'm sorry.”

* * *

“You know me.”

Hardy shook his head. He didn't think he'd ever met Teel before, and it was not too wrong to say that the man's mind had clearly gone. The way he was living seemed proof enough of that, which meant that he didn't even know himself. “We've never met.”

“No, you know me. You called me by name.”

Hardy grimaced. He actually hadn't, though he'd made a good guess, judging from where they were, the likelihood of someone like Chief Constable Teel allowing a stranger on his property and also the reasons why a person might be in the same state as this young man. He'd seen enough lost soldiers to have a decent eye for them, and that added up to Teel.

He was both pleased that the knife wound hadn't completely dulled his senses and a bit concerned that no one else would understand how he'd gotten to this place and why, and with that being the case, he had almost certainly ensured his death.

He'd made sure that Daisy was safe, and while her aunt would find her eventually, she liked the beaches and had a friend, and she'd be all right. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't what he'd intended, but he hadn't actually thought of it in terms of going to confront a crazy person and end up dead. He'd thought of it as going to see a pompous arsehole and ask a few questions, get some angry answers, and find himself back with nothing.

He'd found the missing piece he hadn't even known to look for, and it was going to cost him his life.

“Interesting thing about you, Teel,” Hardy said. “I haven't been here long, but I was told you were dead. That you died in the war and got a medal for that honor.”

“What honor?” Teel demanded. “There's no honor in death.”

Hardy thought that was debatable, entirely up to a body's personal convictions. If he'd died saving his daughter, he'd have felt it was honorable. This one that was coming, it wasn't. It was stupid, and he'd known better, but he'd walked blindly in anyway.

“I heard you had a medal.”

“I didn't get any medals.”

“No, you didn't,” Hardy agreed, now sure of why this man was standing in front of him. “You deserted, didn't you? You walked away from the war, from the fight. Maybe it was the chaos of the battle and you got separated from the others, but you didn't ever go back. You came home. You ran. You're right. There's no honor in you.”

“There is no honor in war,” the other man said, and Hardy wished he didn't agree with that. He felt the same, had since the beginning, but that didn't mean he wanted anything in common with the man across from him.

“I didn't say there was,” Hardy told him. “That doesn't make what you did right.”

“I couldn't stay. There was all this... death. I thought I'd like it. I never minded knocking a bloke about now and then, had my share of scraps at the pub, but I got there and it was all different.”

“It was war, not a pub fight,” Hardy almost snapped. Idiot. This one was so stupid, he felt like he was wasting his time, and how was it no one had noticed him by now? Wandering around looking like he did, killing people, it was all so obvious and not at all like he should have gotten away with two murders like he had. Yes, the killings had been done at night, but even that didn't explain why Teel had been able to come and go freely.

Miller's words about the killer having a partner came back to him. She'd been talking about the possibility of a wife doing the stabbing and the husband moving the body, but that had seemed unlikely, and Hardy now knew it wasn't the answer. It couldn't be.

“You didn't know I spoke to Mark Latimer or Nige Carter, did you? You had no idea I'd investigated any of this, did you?”

Teel watched him, saying nothing.

“Was it only about the uniform, then? The MFP mark on my arm made you afraid I was after you?” Hardy asked. “No. It was dark then. You wouldn't have seen it. And we'd have seen you at the cemetery. You weren't out then. You're not allowed out in the daylight, though you've been breaking that rule more and more lately. That's why Wilmer Stoke and Matt Pryer had to die. They knew you were alive.”

“Wilmer used to be a friend. Then I died, and I learned I had no friends at all.”

“A man like you wouldn't,” Hardy agreed, “but you weren't the one that saw the uniform and panicked. Because I told someone else I was a detective inspector, and then he saw me in uniform. He didn't need to know that I'd spoken to anyone. All he needed to believe was that I might have known that his son buried with honors wasn't actually dead. That I'd know as MFP that the medal was a lie and his son was a damned deserter.”

“Very good, DI Hardy,” the chief constable said. “It really is a shame you didn't die on the cliff.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others organize themselves, while Hardy speaks to the killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gripped by the conviction that the murder mystery I thought was rather good was actually horrible, and I tried to push myself to get this done faster, which is a bit odd, but then again, when one's in doubt, better finished than hanging over one's head. My logic is so... illogical.
> 
> I think the killer suffers from the same thing, but mostly I think his reasons make sense.

* * *

“Is there anything else you can think of that might tell you where he went?” Ellie asked, still worried about Hardy while also concerned about Tom. She didn't want to leave her boy to rush off after a bloody idiot who was grown and should have known better, a lot better, but it did seem that Hardy would end up dead if they didn't do something, and Tom wasn't in danger of dying. She knew he was hurting in a different way, and he'd have to live with what Joe did for a long time, but he was alive.

And it could have been a lot worse. Thank God it wasn't.

Daisy shook her head. “I don't know. He didn't tell me, and he wouldn't have.”

Ellie knew that. She sighed. They had to find Hardy somehow. “Fine, let's just... um... We can send Danny to find Mark, and he can help us look. Chloe, you can go find Nige, see if he's seen Hardy at all. Daisy, go back to the inn and see if your father's come back there or if he said anything to Becca that might hint at where he went. Beth, you go see Paul Coates. Maybe Hardy spoke to him again. And Tom, you look after Fred while we're gone.”

“What? I don't want to—”

“Take him with you over to Olly's. See if he's available to help us look for Hardy. Don't go anywhere else,” Ellie told him. She didn't know that any of her plan was that useful, and she was possibly putting too much trust in Mark and Nigel, but she couldn't see either of them as a killer. She didn't think Mark would hurt his own son—she forced herself not to think about Joe and what he'd done. Mark wasn't Joe, and no one would harm the boys. She'd picked the safest places to send them.

“What about you?”

Ellie grimaced. “I think I might try the cliff side. Hardy could have gone back there. I don't know. I'm hoping one of us spots him before he does anything stupid or gets hurt. Once you've spoken to the person I sent you to, try and get them to come with you to the inn. We'll all regroup there once we've found everyone on our list, and we can figure out a next step if Hardy isn't back by then.”

“Do you think he knows who the killer is?” Tom asked, and Ellie winced. Why was she even having this conversation with her son? 

She shouldn't be involved in a murder. This was wrong, and she knew she'd done it to herself. She could have stayed out of it, even if she didn't believe that Matt killed himself. She'd pushed Hardy to investigate, and now she'd gotten everyone mixed up in this nightmare.

“I don't know what Hardy knows, or if he knows anything at all. It certainly doesn't seem like it at the moment,” Ellie said. “Sorry, Daisy.”

Daisy just shook her head, going to the door. Chloe handed Fred to Tom and followed after her. Tom grumbled, walking out with his brother, Danny close behind him.

Ellie looked over at Beth. “I'm sorry. I didn't even ask. Are you all right with what I said?”

Beth nodded. “I don't know that there's anything else we can do, and we can't let that killer get Hardy, and you sent everyone to the best possible place for them. I don't think Mark or Nige hurt anyone—we could be wrong about that, but I hope not—and the boys should be safe. Are you going to the cliff, then?”

“I don't know. I'm thinking that I must have missed something in what Hardy said or what Daisy did, so I might start that way, try and figure out what I'm missing.”

“Sounds good. See you at the inn, then.”

* * *

Ellie started down the path, trying to think. She felt like she should know what Hardy did, since she'd pulled him into this, not the other way around. She'd been there when he looked at Matt's body, twice, and that hadn't helped much. She'd heard his conversation with Nige, and everyone knew what he'd said to and asked of Paul Coates. She had missed his conversation with Mark, but if Hardy had suspected him, he wouldn't have sent his daughter to the Latimer's house. He would have told her to stay at the inn or maybe sent her to Ellie's house, though he might have known that she would end up at Beth's overnight.

Still, Ellie was almost sure that Hardy had dismissed Mark as a suspect. She didn't know why, but Hardy had found someone else. She couldn't think it was the vicar or Nige, either, but that didn't help because other than them, Ellie had no idea who Hardy might think it was.

She started on the men in town, trying to decide who else it could have been. Jack Marshall, he had a bit of a shop, but as far as she knew, he hadn't crossed paths with Hardy at all. James Cable, Henry Torbett, and Peter Salmon, they'd all served in the war, but just because they had didn't make them suspects. She thought most of them had been at the funeral, but that didn't mean much. Hardy hadn't circulated then, and he wouldn't have known about them being in the war. Not unless he somehow knew of them as MFP, but she didn't think that was the case.

She knew there were other soldiers, but it seemed a bit hard to believe that David Gallison had done it, since he was missing an arm and Trevor Upham had lost his leg. She grimaced. This was getting her nowhere. How was she supposed to narrow this down at all?

She knew she'd wondered about it being a woman whose husband helped her get rid of the body, but that was hard to contemplate as well. She didn't know that she thought any of the ladies around town were any more capable of murder than the men, and she didn't believe it of most of them. War was different. Hardy had said they were all killers, but that was his guilt talking. He blamed himself for taking lives when he fought, and she knew that was a horrible thing to live with, but that didn't mean that every soldier felt that way.

Some of them might have liked it, but she didn't get the sense that any of the ones she knew well were like that. She wondered, briefly, if maybe the killer wasn't someone who had gone to war at all but someone who _wished_ they had. Someone who was jealous of that, though why anyone would be she didn't know. Maybe they wanted to kill, wanted to get away with it or have an excuse, but that still didn't help. That could be any woman or man in town, and it was impossible to know.

If the killer had been easily spotted, she would have told Hardy about them as soon as she knew. No, she'd have gone to Bob Randall or Chief Constable Teel. She wouldn't have gone to Hardy at all, even if the others had decided it was suicide. She had seen Matt. She knew it was murder. She'd have marched right up to Teel and told him who the killer was and to hell with this suicide idea.

Bloody hell. How stupid was she?

That was it, wasn't it? Hardy had gone to the chief constable to tell him that it wasn't suicide and what they'd found. She'd been so dazed after Beth's accusation and the discovery of Joe's true nature to notice what Hardy had done, but he could have taken the pictures from Beth and intended to show them to the chief constable as part of the proof—and his own wound and attack—that was evidence, too. Teel wouldn't have been able to deny that it was a murder.

That settled it. She was going to see the chief constable.

* * *

“Very good, DI Hardy,” the chief constable said. “It really is a shame you didn't die on the cliff.”

“Not in my opinion,” Hardy said, and the chief constable frowned at him. “I think I'm about the only one who would have stopped you, and someone had to, or you'd have done this for years, murdering anyone who found out about your son's survival.”

“You have a daughter, don't you?”

“Aye, I do, but if you think you can threaten her, you're mistaken. I'll kill you with my bare hands before I let you near her. And don't think I can't. You might have stabbed me, but I've got the training, and I managed it before in worse shape,” Hardy told him. He knew most of that was just talk, but Teel had an overly romantic idea of the war anyway, so he might believe it.

“You understand the value of a legacy.”

Hardy snorted. He'd had a bastard of a father who'd twisted that all around, and he could only hope that miserable sod was dead by now. He'd never bothered finding out, and his father had never looked for him, either, so he supposed they were even. “That's what this is all about, is it? Your legacy?”

Teel looked over at his son with disgust. “My son. The great pride of my line, the future generation, nothing but a coward and a deserter. I named him Charlemagne, thinking he'd be a great leader. Someone important. At least he'd follow in my footsteps, take this position. He was supposed to make something of himself, but look at him. He's a filthy animal, not fit to be seen.”

“Somehow I don't think that was all his doing,” Hardy said, almost feeling sorry for the poor bastard named Charlemagne. God, and he'd though Alec was bad.

“He was supposed to go to that war and distinguish himself,” Teel said. “Or at least serve with some honor. Only he _ran._ Pathetic.”

Hardy knew every man at the front had considered it at least once. Even the bravest of them had moments when it seemed too dark, too terrible to bear, and it seemed like running would be easier. No sane person wanted to fight. All of them just wanted to be home, safe, with their families. Well, not necessarily with their families, but none of them wanted to die.

“You came here to find him, didn't you?” Teel asked. “I saw the MFP on your uniform at that funeral. You came for my son.”

Hardy hadn't, but he thought it might be useful to let Teel think he had. Better that than spreading about what sort of a man Joe Miller was. The boy didn't deserve that. “So you attacked me after I left the Latimer's.”

“You looked dead. You shouldn't be alive now.”

Hardy figured laughing would be in bad taste, along with any boasts about how that had happened before. He knew better than that. “Aye, that would have been better for you. If you'd checked, you wouldn't have to worry about me now, and you wouldn't have to wonder if I told anyone else where I was going or what I knew.”

“No one is going to believe that woman over me.”

“I never said I told a woman, and if you have in mind my daughter, I already warned you what would happen if you went against her. Not that it would be of any use to you—Daisy's mother's family has influence, and she'd bring it to bear. Don't think she wouldn't. She's my daughter.”

“I'm not worried about her. No, they'll find your body at the bottom of the cliff, yet another tragic suicide. With your lungs, why wouldn't they believe it? Everyone heard you at the funeral. Shame, of course, you did it when your daughter was here with you, but she just wasn't enough to keep you going.”

Hardy shook his head. “My daughter and Miller aren't the only ones who know what I was investigating. The Latimers, Nigel Carter, Paul Coates. You can't use that story this time. It won't work. No one would believe that of me, not even my enemies.”

“They believed it of Matt Pryer. Wilmer Stoke. Even that fool Stevens.”

Hardy frowned. “Stevens supposedly drank himself to death. Pryer was stabbed. I was stabbed. Why did you do something different with Stevens?”

“He was easier,” Teel said with a smug smile, proud of himself. “He just wanted to forget, wanted to ease the pain of his lungs. It was simple work to poison him. Wilmer Stoke was different. Didn't have time to plan that one. I found out Charley was missing, and I found him with Stoke. Had to silence him then and there. Then I dumped his body in the water and it washed up on shore. Everyone assumed he'd killed himself. That method was effective. No reason not to use it on Pryer.”

“Except that murder is illegal.”

“I am the law.”

“You're insane,” Hardy told him. “You're not a law anyone respects. You're a joke to the community and even your son doesn't follow your orders.”

“You're wrong. This town needs me.”

“Please,” Hardy scoffed. “I could do your job better in my sleep. I've already done it half-dead. You killed three people for nothing—”

“For honor.”

“What honor is there in dying a disgraced prisoner? Because that is what is going to happen. You'll be tried and convicted,” Hardy told him. “This time you've gone too far.”

“No. You didn't tell anyone what you knew,” Teel said, shaking his head. “You don't trust anyone enough for that, do you? No, we'll get rid of you, and when that's done, no one will ever know about any of this.”

Hardy looked at the younger Teel. “You know he'll have to kill you, don't you? This charade can't last forever. He can't kill the entire town to keep your secret. Sooner or later, he will realize it's better to kill you. You're already dead.”

“Ignore him, Charley,” Teel ordered. “He's lying. He'd say anything to save his own skin.”

Hardy thought he saw a flicker of doubt in the younger man's eyes, but it wasn't enough. He looked toward the front of the house, but he'd never make it, not in his condition.

“Think about it. He named you Charlemagne. He made your life a nightmare. He killed your friend. He's making you live in that shed like an animal—he called you an animal. You don't want to listen to him. Don't help him. Not again. He doesn't care about you. He will kill you.”

Charley glared at his father, but he still didn't make a move against him. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a bayonet. Hardy swallowed, taking a step away from the younger Teel and toward his father. It was a risk, but at the same time, he knew that he wouldn't win against both of them

The chief constable lunged for him as soon as he moved, and Hardy felt a sharp stab of pain as they both tumbled to the ground.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie finds Hardy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had one of those false starts where I got midway through the chapter and realized it was going all wrong and had to change it. I think I was still suffering a bit from a "let's finish this before I ruin it" mentality, which never really goes well for me, but I think I fixed it. it is very much Ellie's story at this point, though.

* * *

Ellie checked the door to Teel's office in town, but it wouldn't budge. She stepped back, frowning. Of course, if Hardy had managed to get to him before he left the house, that made sense, but she wished she'd known that before she stopped here. Not that the office wasn't on her way to the house, but it still would have saved her a few minutes time.

She shook her head as she started up the street. She wasn't sure what she was going to do if Hardy _wasn't_ there, but at least she felt a bit better in knowing that she had some sort of plan of what to do. She swore, she had words for him, and when she found him, she was going to let them have them all and then some.

If he'd panicked them for no reason after what he'd done last night, telling them about Joe, she was going to hurt him. She didn't care if he was already injured. She was going to smack him.

She hurried up the last few steps, wanting to get to the house as soon as possible. She needed to get back to Tom, figure out how they were going to deal with what Joe had done to him. She didn't know how to cope with it, and she was the adult. Poor Tom was just a boy, and she wished Joe was alive so she could hurt him for this. How could he do that to Tom? How could he do it to _anyone?_

She refused to think about that now. She had to find Hardy, and after she'd done that, she could worry about the rest of it.

She started to knock on the door when she heard a noise from the back of the house, possibly voices. She frowned and ran around to the back, walking into the yard to see Hardy on the ground, looking dead, again. Standing above him was the chief constable and—bloody hell. That was Charley Teel.

“Charley? You're alive?”

“Mrs. Miller,” Teel said, frowning at her. “I—I'm afraid Charley has done something rather... unfortunate.”

“What?” Ellie asked at the same time as Charley.

“He's killed this man. He was MFP, you know, and he must have come here looking for Charley, since he must have deserted.”

Ellie knew that was a lie. Hardy had told her himself that he'd come about Joe, and she was glad she hadn't spread that around and never mentioned it to Lucy, or he might have been more convincing. Hardy hadn't known Charley was alive. He would have said something. Charley would have been their main suspect.

“You bastard,” Charley said, launching himself at his father. He put his hands around the older man's throat, and she thought that he was going to kill him. Charley cried out, and she realized that Teel had a knife. He'd just stabbed his son.

He'd claim defense. She knew that. She'd even witnessed it.

Only Charley wasn't letting go. He held on, even as he bleed out, and she could hear Teel gurgling. She started toward them, knowing that as much as she wasn't sure she wanted to intervene, she had do to something.

“Miller.”

She jumped, not expecting that low croak. She rushed over to Hardy's side, both relieved and infuriated to realized that Hardy was actually alive. She was glad he was, she was, but he was such an idiot. Why had he come here alone, injured, when he must have suspected something of Teel?

“You bastard,” she said, leaning over him. She put her hand over the latest wound, reaching back to tear off part of her skirt to use as a bandage. “Don't you have any sense at all?”

“Teel... killer... son...”

She grimaced. She'd thought that might be the case, but she had still intended to help him before Hardy spoke. “You just worry about not dying. I think they're taking care of each other.”

He closed his eyes, groaning. She covered his wound with the cloth and willed him not to die.

* * *

The silence was unnerving, leaving Ellie with nothing but Hardy's rasping breaths. A part of her was horrified, another worried, and the rest relieved. Hardy was alive, it didn't sound like the Teels were, and she was safe enough. That was good—and bad, she didn't know how well anyone was going to take the news about Teel, if they were going to believe her.

If Hardy died, it was almost certain that they wouldn't. Everyone would want to believe the story Teel had tried to sell her, that his son was behind all of this. She could have believed that herself when she saw the sorry shape Charley was in, and it was only Hardy's word and a few wrong ones in Teel's speech that said otherwise. 

She looked back at the house and down at Hardy. His eyes were still closed. She touched his face, and he stirred, eyes not quite focusing on her. She moved his hand onto the cloth over his wound. “I think they're dead. I'm going inside to use the phone to call for help. Don't die on me while I'm gone. Keep that hand where it is. The rag should stay put. You do the same.”

Hardy glared at her like he wanted to argue, but he was too tired to do it. She forced herself up, running past the Teels to the back door. She half-expected one of them to grab her, but no attack came. She opened the door and stepped inside, grateful for whatever had made him leave it open. She went to the phone, picking it up and ringing for the operator.

“Doctor Rowell,” Ellie said. “It's an emergency.”

She waited impatiently for the connection, and then as soon as the line clicked over, she spoke. “Doctor Rowell, I need you at Chief Constable Teel's house right away. A man's been stabbed—two men, actually, though I think one of them is already dead.”

“What?”

“Don't question me, just come as fast as you can. I've got several other calls to make. Get here before he dies,” she snapped, hanging up and getting the operator back. She asked for Bob Randall next, calling him over to Teel's house as well.

Her last call went to the inn. “Becca, is Daisy Hardy there?”

“She's been pacing my lobby for a while now,” Becca answered. “She asked about her father. Do you know anything about—”

“I found him. Send her over to Constable Teel's house. I don't want her getting this from anyone else, and he probably needs her,” Ellie said, hoping that he'd be too stubborn to die in front of his daughter and she wasn't making a big mistake by telling the girl to come. She hoped that it was better this was better than hearing it from someone else, who might tell her that Hardy was dead.

Ellie didn't know. She left the phone and hurried back to Hardy's side, once again unmolested by the Teels. She knelt down next to him, ripping off more of her skirt to replace the first bandage. She pushed his hand out of the way, taking off the old bandage.

“The doctor's coming,” Ellie told him, “and so is Daisy. Don't even think for a second you can die on me now.”

Hardy didn't answer, but she took a small comfort in the fact that he was still breathing.

* * *

“I'm really not convinced it was right to bring him all this way,” Rowell said, looking down at the man in the bed. He'd voiced the same complaint several times already, and Ellie was tired of it, but she understood why he'd make it. She'd only won by pointing out that Rowell's own surgery was just as far away from Teel's house as hers was.

She could tell he still regretted giving in to her, but Daisy's question about being able to stay there with Hardy had also tipped matters in their favor, as Rowell was clearly against that idea.

“He should be dead,” Rowell said, and Ellie gave him a look, shaking her head. Had he missed that Daisy was standing right there? She knew she'd said some things before in front of that girl and her own boys, and Hardy had, too, but Rowell should have some sense. “It didn't get stopped by scar tissue this time, but he's a stubborn bastard, and he's holding on. Keep him still, watch for infection, and he might just beat this one, too.”

Daisy let out a breath, looking at the doctor. “You're sure? He's going to live?”

“The wound is serious, and he shouldn't have been up at all after the last one, but he could still survive this, yes,” Rowell told her. “There's a greater risk of infection now, and with his compromised lungs, that is a concern. Still, I think there's a good chance he'll recover. Just—try and keep him in bed this time. He shouldn't move around. Those wounds are not to be trifled with.”

Ellie forced herself not to snort. Rowell was getting self-important now, and she really didn't think that it mattered that he'd said to stay in bed. Hardy wouldn't listen to that, though she had half a mind to keep him drugged up or sit on him until he recovered. She still owed him one hell of a lecture.

“You're welcome to stay with us until he's better,” Ellie said, and Rowell frowned at her. “Oh, please. Exactly what are we going to do when he's half-dead? He's staying here. There will be more people to fight if he tries to leave, and we have room. It's fine. It's also settled.”

Daisy nodded. “I'll go get our stuff from the inn later.”

Ellie gave her a warm but weary smile. She was tired now, and she wanted to rest herself. Between finding out about Joe and then discovering Hardy had blundered into a pair of killers, she'd had enough shocks to last her a lifetime, and caring for him afterward was just as draining.

She was already tired of explaining to everyone that yes, Charley had been alive and no, he wasn't now. She knew the town was struggling, not wanting to believe that its chief constable had been a murderer. They'd rather it was all Charley, but Ellie knew that wasn't true, and so did Hardy, if he lived to tell that particular tale.

“I'll be off, then,” Rowell said. “Remember, keep him resting.”

Ellie nodded. She'd gotten that much the first time. The idiot had no idea how stubborn Hardy was, and she was a little glad of it, because if he wasn't so damned stubborn, they'd probably never have known it was Teel. She doubted they'd know it was Charley, since he'd been around since before the war ended and none of them had realized it.

She was tempted to sit down here and stay where she was, ready for some rest herself, but she knew she had too much to do for that. She had only barely started on things when she left with Hardy and Rowell, and while Bob Randall was aware of what had happened at the Teel home, he seemed a little overwhelmed by it all, wanting someone to give him orders.

Hardy would have been good at that, Ellie thought, but that was for another time when they were all past this. Right now, she couldn't think about that. She watched Daisy sit down at her father's side and take his hand.

“I need to check on the boys,” Ellie said, feeling a bit uncomfortable here, aware this wasn't really her place. “I'll be back up with some tea in a few minutes.”

Daisy nodded. “Thank you.”

Ellie sighed. She might have made the wrong choice in calling Daisy to her father's side, though the first time the girl took his hand, he'd come around enough to look at her, and that had given everyone a bit of hope. Still, she wished she could have spared the girl that sight. Hardy had scared her good. 

“Rowell's a bit of a prat, but he's not entirely wrong. Your father is probably the most stubborn man I've met, and he doesn't seem willing to die.”

Daisy nodded. “He hasn't punished himself enough yet.”

Ellie frowned, not sure what the girl meant by that. She took a breath and let it out, having no real choice but to say it. “I know... I probably shouldn't have gotten your father involved, but I don't know that it would ever have been solved without him.”

“Doubt it,” she agreed. “Since it was your own chief constable what did it.”

* * *

Beth finished pouring the water into a cup as she heard someone on the stairs. Good, that should be Ellie, and it was about time. She'd already seen the doctor pas, but he hadn't told her anything. So much for her mother's influence in the community. 

Ellie stopped short, staring when she saw Beth standing there. “When did you get here?”

“Oh, that's a fine thanks,” Beth muttered, though she wasn't that annoyed. She was, a little, since Ellie hadn't been at the inn or told her anything about what was going on. She'd found out on her own, from the Broadchurch rumor mill, and that thing was working double time. She shook her head, holding out a cup to Ellie. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“Long enough to make tea, though,” Ellie said, taking the cup from her. “Thanks. I need this. And a nap that will last for days.”

“And a new dress and a bath,” Beth told her, looking over the torn and bloodied skirt. Ellie's eyes widened and she looked down, wincing. She must have forgotten that she was such a mess. 

“It was a little crazy after I found Hardy,” Ellie said, shaking her head and shuddering. “When I first got there, I thought he was dead. So did Teel.”

Beth grimaced, though that wasn't exactly news. “Yeah, Nige came running with Chloe to tell us that they'd found bodies. Rumors went around fast again. Some wild mad man was on the loose. A monster came into town... and Hardy was dead.”

“Bloody hell,” Ellie muttered. “That Mary Crespin. I swear, the only one who'd be worse as switchboard operator would be Lucy. They're the worst gossips in town. At least I did right in calling Daisy first. She would have heard he was dead, poor girl.”

“That would have been awful,” Beth agreed. She turned back to the stove and started making a tea for herself. “How bad is he?”

“Worse than before, but Rowell thought he'd live,” Ellie said. “He'd damn well better. He's not abandoning that girl of his, and I've got a few things to say to him, too.”

“It was pretty stupid of him, going off on his own the way he did,” Beth said. “What exactly did happen? All we got were strange tales. Charley Teel's not really alive, is he?”

“He was, for a few minutes, when I saw him,” Ellie said. “I didn't understand it, but he must have deserted during the war. I think he's been back for a long time, we just never knew. Hardy wasn't able to tell me much, though he did say that Teel was the killer, not Charley.”

Beth almost dropped her tea. “Are you sure? Was that just delusional rambling because he was stabbed, or do you really think that he was right and Teel killed Wilmer Stoke and Matt Pryer?”

“When I got there, Teel had the knife, and he tried to convince me that Charley had stabbed and killed Hardy. Charley attacked him after that. I don't know. Teel said that Hardy was there for Charley, which we both know is a lie—Hardy told us that he came here to find out if Joe had actually done what that boy accused him of, not that he was here chasing Charley Teel.”

“If he'd been after Charley, wouldn't he have accused him of the murder before Mark, Nige, or even Paul Coates,” Beth said. “That doesn't make sense. Hardy didn't give me the sense he knew anything about Charley being alive.”

“I don't think he did,” Ellie said. “My best guess is that he went to confront Teel about ruling it a suicide and stumbled onto Charley in the process. I'm not sure, but that makes sense to me. It's why I went to see if Hardy was there.”

Beth nodded. “So what happens now?”

Ellie shook her head. “I don't know.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hardy wakes up and considers the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I kept trying to write Ellie yelling at Hardy and it didn't work.
> 
> And I don't know that I have anything to add to this (I do have ideas for a sequel, but someone please stop me before I do that because... I am so bad at this and all wrong, too.)

* * *

“There he is, man of the hour,” Miller teased, and Hardy groaned, already regretting opening his eyes. “Or, I should properly say, _idiot_ of the hour. Complete bloody moron. What were you thinking, Hardy? No, you weren't thinking. You said you wanted a better trap. You were supposed to get better before you confronted a suspect, supposed to stay with people so he couldn't target you. Instead, you go off on your own, alone, and almost die. Again.”

“I see... wasted... no time... on the lecture,” he whispered, not quite awake and wishing he could go back under again, since he had no desire to continue this conversation. He should have been done with the women yelling at him, what with Tess gone and her horrid sister left well behind for good and all. His body ached, all of it heavy and full of pain, making him feel like he didn't dare try to move.

“You've been in and out for days,” Miller told him. “I figured I'd go ahead soon as I got the chance. This time you stayed awake for it.”

“Damn.”

She laughed, and he found he didn't mind it, even if it was at his expense and he was still hurting. She looked down at him, and he knew a further lecture was coming. “You do realize no one had any idea what you were thinking, right? What if Teel had managed to kill you and took your body out to the water?”

“Daisy... never believe... it,” Hardy said, still finding it difficult to talk and a bit to breathe. “And there was... you.”

“Me?”

“You came,” he said, though now that he said it, he wondered if that was a fevered dream. He thought she'd been there, but he didn't remember much of what happened after Teel attacked him. He was almost sure he had tried to convince Charley Teel his father would turn on him even as he fought the older man, but that might not be right, either. “At least... you wouldn't... believe him.”

“No, I wouldn't have. I didn't. As soon as he told me you came for Charley, I knew something was wrong,” Ellie said. She grimaced. “I didn't stop them.”

“They got... away?”

“They killed each other,” she corrected with a sigh. “I think it's better that way, a bit. No trials, no arguing over who the killer really was—Teel would have been believed, not Charley.”

“Not sure... was just... Teel,” Hardy admitted. He tried to move his hand over his side, and she reached out to stop him.

“What do you mean?”

“Charley said... he found out Wilmer Stoke... wasn't a friend. And he sought Stoke out... after... after Teel had already killed... your brother in law.”

“What?” Miller asked, swallowing like she might vomit all over him. She better not. “Tell me you're joking. That—he didn't kill Lucy's husband. No. He wouldn't have—”

“Told me... he poisoned his drink,” Hardy said, trying to sit up now that he had more feeling back. He didn't make it far before lying down again. “Didn't ask. Didn't... didn't know. He... volunteered that information. Bragged a little. Sorry, Miller.”

“I guess in some ways it makes it a bit better. Lucy's husband didn't leave her by choice,” Miller said. “Still... bloody hell. Now I'm—I want to go back to when I was angry with you. I was going to yell and scream and call you names—I don't... how can that be true?”

Hardy didn't know. He hadn't known that Stevens was murdered or that Teel had done it until the man told him. Not that he'd known either man, not well. If Teel hadn't rushed to declare it a suicide, then Hardy would never have thought about talking to him.

“I... I still don't know what to think,” Miller admitted. “I still owe you a lecture, but I can't do it now. I can't... I don't even know what to say.”

“Where is... my daughter?”

“Asleep in the other room,” Miller answered. “She's been here, at your side, and barely left since we brought you here. I finally persuaded her to take a bit of a breather, and she was out as soon as she sat down.”

“Here?”

“Beth helped move your stuff from the inn, and we settled the account with Becca for now. You're not going anywhere until you've properly healed this time.”

“What? You can't do that.”

“I can, and I have,” she told him, giving him a smile as she rose, walking toward the door.

“Miller, come back here,” Hardy said, trying to get up, still as weak as his last attempt. “Miller!”

* * *

“You scared me,” Daisy told him, and he grunted. She wanted to be mad, and a part of her still was, since he'd left her behind and almost died. She didn't know what she would have done if he had, because she wasn't going back to Liza. Not now, not ever. “You're not allowed to die, you know.”

“Been hearing that a lot lately,” her father said, and she glared at him. “It wasn't my intention. I just wanted to ask Teel a few unpleasant questions.”

“Did you know he was the killer?”

Her father tensed, and she could see him warring with what he was about to say when he finally spoke. “Not exactly. Had in mind he might have known there was more to the killings, maybe even that he knew who did them, and when I saw his son, it looked to be true.”

“Only his son didn't do it, he did, and he almost killed you. Twice.”

“Daisy, this... You have to know this isn't usual. Broadchurch isn't the sort of place. Quiet. Not much crime. This... an aberration. The war changed a lot of things, and Teel was one of them. He may have been difficult before, but he became obsessed with his legacy to the point where he actually chose that over his son's life—over many lives. It was, I think, all he thought he had left. People with power, darling, the one thing they fear the most is losing it. Teel thought he lost his when he lost his son—never mind that it was to desertion and not to death. Most men aren't like him.”

She nodded, though she thought it would be a long time before she trusted anyone again, including her father. She knew he'd do anything to protect her, that she still didn't doubt, but she didn't think she could trust him with his _own_ safety. He only cared about knowing the truth, not about what might happen to him in the process.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I thought by going to his house, letting him have the conversation in private, it would stay polite. Or, what passes for polite when people talk to me.”

She almost laughed. “Dad, I don't—”

“I lived. A killer was stopped. That's all that matters.”

“Dad, I saw you covered in blood,” she told him, and he frowned. “I saw you bleeding. You weren't conscious. I thought you might die.”

“You shouldn't have been there,” he said, trying to sit up again. “Why were you there? You didn't know where I was going. And—Miller. She told you where I was? Why the bloody hell did she do that?”

“Because she thought you needed me, and it might have been the last time I saw you,” Daisy said. “You need to stop thinking that it doesn't matter if you're hurt. It matters. I could have lost you. I don't want that. I want you there when I'm older, so you can see me become a nurse, and if I _do_ decide to marry, I want you there, too.”

He gave her a look like he didn't like that idea at all, and Daisy had to fight against laughing again. Her father was so difficult sometimes it was hilarious. “I'm not trying to leave you, Daisy. You'd know if I was.”

She grimaced at that. “I know you don't think that, but you did put yourself—”

“I was already a target. It was a matter of time before he came after me the second time,” Hardy said. “And from what Teel said, all it took was seeing me in the damned uniform. He thought I was after his son because of what I did in the war. That was enough for him. It wasn't Miller, wasn't the investigation. It was a patch on my uniform.”

Daisy swallowed, feeling sick. “You're not going to wear it again, are you?”

“Well...” He grimaced. “I might have to. Events, too much dirty laundry...”

“Speaking of laundry,” Daisy said, reaching over to pull out her now completed project. She held it up for him to see. “When you get better, you'll have to try it on and see if it fits. I based it on one of your other shirts, so it should, but I'm not really a seamstress, so—”

“Thank you, darling,” he said, choking up a bit as he spoke. “Come here. I can't get over there to you, so you'll have to do the work, but that deserves a hug.”

She leaned over and embraced him, holding on and hoping he wouldn't start coughing again.

* * *

“You are such an idiot,” Ellie said, looking up from feeding Fred in time to catch Hardy about to leave the house. She should have known better than to let Tom and Daisy go off to the Latimer's, but she'd thought it was safe enough when Hardy was still having trouble sitting up. Damn bastard. He'd either been exaggerating that or he'd just gotten up in spite of that, the moron.

“Says the woman who called my daughter to a crime scene where I was lying covered in blood.”

Ellie grimaced. “She would have heard what Beth did if I hadn't—that there were bodies found. She'd have believed you were dead. Would you have wanted that?”

He said nothing, probably because he knew she was right but he wouldn't admit it. 

“Come in and sit down. I was going to bring you tea when I was done feeding Fred.”

He gave her another look, but she thought he must have figured it was too much effort to keep himself on his feet because he accepted it. He went to the closest chair and took a seat. She passed him the bowl and spoon, and he stared at her. 

She tried not to laugh as she left the room, wondering if he would do it or if she'd come back to Fred screaming for more and pounding the table. She went into the kitchen and made them both a cup of tea. She carried them back with her, stopping in the doorway to watch as he got a spoonful into Fred's mouth.

She smiled, though when he looked up to see her, he dunked the spoon back in the bowl and pushed it across the table.

“You didn't have to stop on my account.”

“What, no comment about how I shouldn't be moving?”

“Suppose you should get that and a few dozen more, seeing as you are still going against doctor's orders and everything I told you, too,” she said, only giving him his tea because the cup was about ready to burn her hand. “Between being stabbed and your lungs—”

“There's no cure for what the gas did to me,” Hardy said, annoyed. “I will have bad days. Some good days, others bad. The doctors weren't even sure what the long term—bloody idiots. When it happened, they told me I was fine and sent me back out there. The hell do they know?”

She sat down, not sure how to respond to that. “I suppose you don't think much of them. Still going to let Daisy be a nurse?”

“Better that than a debutante.”

Ellie nodded. She could see that. “Yeah, I can see you having little tolerance for them. Which does make me wonder why you ended up with one. Or did I hear it wrong about your wife? She was from money, wasn't she?”

“How much has Daisy said?”

“Enough.”

He grunted, taking a sip of his tea before speaking. “I met Tess on a case. She kept trying to stick her nose into it, and we... sort of fell in together. She wasn't like most people I met.”

“She actually liked you?”

He snorted. “What, no comment about her doing it to spite her family? That was what everyone else said. That she only married me as an act of rebellion and regretted it afterward.”

Ellie frowned. She thought there was something to it, given the way he spoke. “Was that true?”

He drew in a breath and then let it out. “Dunno. Her sister tried to tell me it was after she was gone, told me Tess was going to leave me when I was at the front, take Daisy and make outrageous claims when I wasn't there to defend myself, but it was Liza, and she's not worth the trust you'd give a snake.”

“I suppose it would be very poor taste to tell you now that people expect you to make an honest woman of me.”

He spat out the tea he'd just drank. “Excuse me?”

“Mostly old Mrs. Knight. She thinks she controls everything. Her daughter's not so bad, but that crone is almost fairy tale evil,” Ellie said, shaking her head. “Don't worry about it. Nothing happened, nothing could have or would have, and I don't expect that from you. The few people I care about know the truth, and the rest don't matter. Besides, you're leaving soon anyway.”

He shifted in his chair, saying nothing again.

“Oh. Did you figure on staying?”

“Don't know where I'm going. Not Scotland, not near Liza. That's all I know. Doctors said dryer climates were better for my lungs, but that doesn't mean much.”

Ellie nodded. “Well... This town does sort of have a vacancy, you know.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Chief Constable Teel is gone, after all, and while everyone likes Bob, he's not really the sort of man you want in charge of a real investigation,” Ellie admitted, hating herself for saying it, even if it was true. Bob was loyal and dutiful, but he wasn't ambitious and not half so gifted at sussing things out as Hardy had been in a few short minutes of knowing a person. “We could use someone with some experience there, and it would be quiet enough for you to handle even with your lungs.”

“Why the hell would you want that, Miller? You didn't like me even before I told you the truth of what your husband was.”

She winced. “I... As much as I hate it, I'm better off knowing what Joe was. Tom doesn't have to suffer in silence. I can help him, be there for my son, and I won't be making a martyr of someone who didn't deserve it. Not that I'm happy you told me. I'm not. I kind of had to get over the shock quickly when you wound up almost dead again, and I still don't like it, but I can live with it. What I can't live with is that position going to someone else who could do what Teel did, use it to cover up murders they committed.”

Hardy watched her. “And why are you so sure I wouldn't abuse the post? Not for murder but for other things?”

She snorted. “Are you bloody kidding me? Hardy, you believed that boy when he told you about a crime _no one_ discusses. You found out the truth for him, and it's still not one I like, but you did it. That part of you... that's almost noble.”

He looked down at his tea. “I'll think about it.”


End file.
